Fatherless Fanny; or, Memoirs of a little mendicant and her benefactors

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PREFACE.

THIS Novel is one of the newest and most
modern now extant, and is out of the common
track of Novel writing: it is an attempt to
unite the various merits and graces of the an
cient romance and moden novel; and, like his
tory, represents human nature as real life.
To attain this end, there is required a degree
of the marvellous to excite the attention, and
real manners of life to give an air of proba
bility to the work, and to engage the heart in
its behalf. The characters are admirably
drawn and supported ; the diction polished
and elegant; and the whole so closely con
nected, as to keep the imagination of the reader
continually alive to the subject before him.

Thus mankind are naturally pleased with
what gratifies their vanity ; and vanity, like all
other passions of the human heart, may be ren
dered subservient to good and useful purposes.

The reader is not, therefore, confused with

the association of truth with fiction, although

fiction is the basis of the story. The passion

1

IV PREFACE.

that awakens and gives energy to life, is alone
painted in those colours which AURORA gives to
the morning, when all animated nature wakes
to feast on the luxuriant fruits of Summer,
when all is ecstacy, harmony., and Joy.

Venal orators, who are dissatisfied with
their own situation, ever discover either vice or
error in the most meritorious performances.
This production is submitted to the candour of
a generous public, who ever censure with lenity,
and reward with liberality.

It seemed to me that it was possible to com
pose a work upon the same plan, wherein these
defects might be avoided ; and the keeping, as
in painting, might be preserved. But then I
began to fear it might happen to me as to cer
tain translators and imitators of Shakspeare,
the unities may be preserved while the spirit is
evaporated ; however, I ventured the attempt,
and read it to a circle of friends of approved
judgment.

Fatherless Fanny, Sfc.

CHAPTER I.

The Seminary.

IN one of those polite seminaries devoted to fe
male instruction, with which the environs of
London abound, lived Miss Bridewell, whose
despotic sway within the limits of her own juris
diction, was certainly equal to that of the most
potent monarch in the civilized world, not except
ing the great Napoleon himself. Her word was
law — her nod vfasfate— and her approbation or
displeasure settled the degree of consequence en
joyed by every individual that approached her.
Miss Bridewell had been many years a precept
ress of youth ; so many years, that she began to
entertain thoughts of changing her appellation of
courtesy from Miss to Mrs. ; still, however, this
arrangement was delayed, and the juvenile title
was now the only remains of youthful pretensions.
With increase of years, however, Miss Bridewell
had the consolation of enjoying a proportionate
increase of fortune. When she made her first
debut as a governess, it was in a small house at
Brompton, where a large board disclosed hers to
be a boarding school for young ladies. Her talents
as a school mistress, however, soon raised her

2 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

from this honourable station, and she opened
Cannondale House with all the eclat of modern
splendour. Still, however, amongst the nume
rous scholars that crowded her highly esteemed
Seminary, some plebeian souls would creep in —
scarcely could the immense sums their parents
paid for their education, reconcile the stately
Miss Bridewell to the degradation of admitting
them into her circle. The happy time at length
arrived, in which the nourishing state of Miss
Bridewell's finances enabled her to form an estab
lishment upon more exalted principles. Can
nondale House was let at an enormous premium,
besides an exorbitant rent, to a governess of a
subordinate degree, who was glad of an oppor
tunity of treading in the successful steps of her
predecessor, and whose soul had not yet risen
above the profitable task of teaching the children
of ambitious tradesmen. The soaring mind of
Miss Bridewell was not, however, so easily con
tented. Ladies of title, or at least of high family,
were alone the object of her attention, and the
name of establishment was given to her seminary,
as having a grander sound, and better suited to
her exalted ideas. Indeed, ever since the estab
lishment of the P of Wales, every petty

family's arrangement has assumed that dignified
appellation amongst the sons and daughters of
ton. We all know, however, that there are many
people of high rank, who are straitened in their
circumstances, and whose names., although they
may bestow eclat, will not support expence. Miss
Bridewell soon found this, and it induced her to
admit a few rich heiresses, as a great favour into
the happy group that formed her establishment,
and as she was a true disciple of the world, she
bestowed her favours, which cost her nothing, in
proportion as she received those from her pupils,
that cost a great deal. The house Miss Bridewell

Till: UTTLI. M KM) It' A NT. .'i

inhabited was spacious and elegant, and possessed
all the requisites of modern refinement. A bou
doir, that indispensible apartment for a real fine
lady ; a drawing room, dining parlour, with break
fast parlour and study, were the apartments de
voted to the use of the governess ; whilst a very
spacious room, to which she had given the ap
propriate title of " la salle des sciences"vias occu
pied by the young ladies during their hours of
improvement. The house itself stood in a shrub
bery, with a velvet lawn before the door : The
windows were on the French construction, and
adorned by virandas, whilst the most costly dis
play of orange trees, and other exotics of the
rarest kind, gave the coup d'ceil, to the entrance
of " Myrtle Grove" as mis retreat of the Muses
was poetically denominated. The decorations
of the house in the inside, were in a style of ele
gance that corresponded with its outward appear
ance, and every article of furniture which has
been invented to indulge the luxury, or gratify the
pride of this age of refinement, were there assem
bled, to prove at once the taste and opulence of
the proprietor. — Could it be possible for pride to
be happy, Miss Bridewell must have been so, but
it is well known by every common observer, that
the gratification of our passions never yet gave
the happiness it promised, and pride above all
other feelings is the hardest to be satisfied. Miss
Bridewell was far from happy, for her haughty
temper was insatiable of homage, and notwith
standing she supported imperial dignity amongst
her immediate dependants, she always felt that
uneasiness inseparable from conscious unworthi-
ness, whenever she went into public. She fancied
if she was independent, she should be more res
pected, and deplored the necessity there was for
her continuing the occupation of governess so long
after the aggrandizement of her wishes had ren-

I F A T n I . li L I : S » 1 A \ N Y ; OK,

dered every thing short of haul-ton degrading to
her inflated pride. Her domestic establishment
was on a very large scale ^ she had two men, a
coachman, and a porter at the gate, besides a
proportionate number of female servants ; and
this stately parade was become so necessary to
her existence, that it obliged her to pursue that
occupation which alone could preserve it for her.
Her avarice, therefore, increased with her in
creasing fortune, and rendered her the ready tool
of every person whose power or riches seemed to
promise to assist in supporting the consequence
she prized so highly. Miss Bridewell, like other
ladies who have establishments for education,
had a limited number of pupils, and as her price
was exorbitant, the number was generally on the
deficit side of the question; and, notwithstanding
her constant boast of the many applications she
was obliged to refuse, she felt herself more fre
quently anxious because of their poverty than
their multitude.

During the Christmas vacation in 1798, Miss
Bridewell being from home on a visit at the house
of one of her right honourable pupils, the care of
her family was left to the inspection of the lady
who was styled sub-governess in the teaching de
partment. This lady, whose name was Dawson,
had long been a great favourite with her em
ployer, because her disposition was of that sup
ple kind, that is exactly suited to an intercourse
with such imperious people as Miss Bridewell,
whom she took care to flatter on the weak side of
her understanding, and by that means led her
which ever way she pleased.

Two young ladies, who were West Indians, of
large fortune, always passed the holidays at
Myrtle Grove ; and Mrs. Dawson was sitting-
one dismal evening with them in the drawing
room, vainly endeavouring to dispel the ennui

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. &

that had crept into the company, by relating a
long string of adventures that had befallen ner
during the reign of Robespierre, which term of
terror had been passed by Mrs. Dawson at
Paris, subject to the vicissitudes of that dread
ful era. Miss Barlowe declared there was not
such a bore, in her opinion, as long dismal stories ;
and Miss Emily, her sister, observed with a
yawn, that she wished there existed a proba
bility of an interruption to the Te Deum of
their solitude, from the arrival of company.
Just as she spoke, a violent ring at the carriage
gate made them all jump. " Company," ex
claimed Miss Emily Barlowe, dancing about in
an ecstasy of joy, " company, company, and we
shall have something to amuse us at last." A
servant came into the room at this moment, lead
ing a little girl by the hand of the most prepos
sessing appearance, and announced to Mrs.
Dawson, that a lady in a very dashing equipage
desired to speak with her at the gate. Mrs.
Dawson was very much disturbed at this request,
as she was particularly afraid of catching cold ;
and one servant was sent for her shawl, another
for clogs, and another for her swansdown tippet,
whilst she stood lamenting the untoward circum
stance that exposed her to the dreaded danger.
At length she was equipped to her mind, and
ordering the servant to hold an umbrella over her
head, she proceeded to greet the unseasonable vi-
siter. A thousand questions succeeded one another
in swift succession to the servant that attended
her, ending with a wonder of who it could possibly
be, that had taken such a strange hour to come
out of town. The man professed his ignorance,
and poor Mrs. Dawson reached the carnage gate
as wise as she set out. But, heavens ! what was
her surprise and consternation when the porter
her that the carriage was that instant gout- ;

6 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" the lady waited," said he, " as long as she could
ma'am, but finding you did not come, she said
she must go, as her time was precious, and that
she would call again ; but she said, ma'ani,"
added the man, " there was a letter in the young
lady's trunk that will explain every thing. Mrs.
Dawson turned herself round in high dudgeon,
and walked back to the house in silence ; a secret
fear pervaded her mind that she should incur
Miss Bridewell's displeasure, although excepting
in the time she had wasted in equipping herself,
she could not be implicated in the blame of re
ceiving the child, without seeing the person who
brought it. When Mrs. Dawson returned to the
drawing room, she found the two Miss Barlowe's
amusing themselves with their new companion,
who was a beautiful little girl, about five years'
old, and who appeared as much delighted with
her playfellows as they were with her. " This
is the sweetest little angel that ever was seen," said
Miss Emily, " pray dear Mrs. Dawson, tell me
who she is ! the little creature herself says she
has no name beside Fanny" " Indeed I know
nothing about her," says Mrs. Dawson, throwing
herself down on the sofa, " I have a great mind
to send her to the workhouse, for I suspect it is
a mere swindling trick to impose the child upon
Miss Bridewell." " The workhouse ! dear Mrs.
Dawson, how can you talk so shocking ?" said
Miss Barlowe, " I vow you are a worse tyrant
than the horrid Robespierre you have been talking
so much about." Miss Barlowe was very gene
rous where she liked, and Mrs. Dawson had
often felt the pleasing effects of her bounty ; she
was not willing therefore, to incur the censure of
so convenient a friend, and as she was well versed
in the art of tacking abotit,$he changed her note
in a minute, and taking the child upon her knee,
she said, " It is a pretty little creature, indeed,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 7

my dear ; I believe I should be as unlikely as your
self to act unkindly towards her. What is your
name, poppet?" continued Mrs. Da vvson, address
ing the child. " Fanny " answered the little in
nocent. " And your other name?" asked her
interrogator. " I have no other name," said the
child. " Who is your Father, my dear ?" " I
have none]* answered the prattler ; they used to
call me Fatherless Fanny" " Who were those
that called you so ?" " I don't know," replied
the child, " Mrs. Sydney was my mamma, and
that's all I can tell you.'" " Oh dear !" inter
rupted Mrs. Dawson, giving little Fanny to Miss
Barlowe, " I had forgotten to ask for the child's
trunk ; the porter says there is a letter in it
that will explain every thing." So saying, she
pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to
bring up the young lady's trunk, that was just
come : the servant obeyed ; and the girls pressed
round Mrs. Dawson, whilst she opened it, with
an eagerness of curiosity that put the innocent
proprietor entirely out of their heads. On the
top of the package lay a letter directed for
Miss Bridewell ; and as Mrs. Dawson con
sidered herself that lady's representative, she
did not scruple to satisfy her curiosity, by
opening it. The first object that presented
itself to her eyes on so doing, was a bank post
bill for two hundred pounds. " This ticket is
not a blank at least," exclaimed she, holding
open the note, to the young ladies ; she then
proceeded to peruse the letter, and found the
following words : —

" The young lady who will be the companion
of this letter, is nobly born, and entitled to a
large fortune. Reasons, which cannot with
prudence be revealed, oblige her friends to con
ceal her in some safe retreat for a few years.
Miss Bridewell is selected as the most eligible

8 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

preceptress for little Fanny, to whose care,
therefore, she is consigned, with a strict charge
not to spare expense or labour in the education
of the child. The sum enclosed will be paid
yearly into Miss Bridewell's hands for the sup
port of her ward, who is to be distinguished by
the appellation of Fanny only."

" There," said Mrs. Dawson, exultingly," I
am glad this affair has turned out so well, for
I was sadly afraid we should have a hurricane
at Miss Bridewell's return; but come, let us ex
amine the little brat's wardrobe ; we shall
guess by that whether the account of her be
true or not." The clothes were produced,
and the profusion of fine muslins and ex
pensive lace, of which they were composed,
convinced the committee that Fanny was, indeed,
the personage the letter described her to be. Yet
no trinket or picture appeared which might serve
as a guide to ascertain her identity, when she
should be re-demanded by her friends, after a
lapse of years had altered her person. When the
examination was finished, the ladies re-seated
themselves on the sofa, where they found poor
Fanny extended at her full length, and fast asleep.
The bell was now rung, and a maid-servant
ordered to attend the new coiner to bed. Emily
Barlowe entreated she might share her's, " and do
let her be my child, Mrs. Dawson, indeed I will
teach her, and take care of her, and become quite
a mother to her. Now say you will my dear — dear
Dawson." " Ah you cunning puss," replied
Mrs. Dawson, " thus it is that you always nave
your way with m#." "Oh then I may have her!"
interrupted Miss Emily, snatching the child up in
her arms. " Sweet little innocent, how I shall
doat upon her." " You will spoil your shape
Emily, said her sister, " if you carry that heavy
child about, and what do you think mamma will

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. S)

say when she sees you ?" " Papa desired me not
to spoil my heart" answered Emily, and there
fore I am sure he will approve of me doing any
thing that keeps the amiable feelings of humanity
in exercise." The sweet girl with her little charge
in her arms, now left the room, attended by the
maid ; Miss Barlowe was left alone with Mrs.
Dawson. "That girl," said the former, speaking
of her sister, " has such plebeian notions, she will
never make a fine lady" " Emily is very good-
natured," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " but she cer
tainly wants dignity ; that, however, will not be
missed with her petite figure." When Emily re
turned to the drawing room from putting the
sleeping Fanny to bed, she said, " my little girl
has got the prettiest necklace and bracelets made
of hair, and locked with bullion, that ever were
made. T dare say they are . composed of her
father and mother's hair, for I can perceive there
are two sorts, but I would not unclasp them, for
fear of waking the little stranger."

~ ~

" I dare say," said Miss Barlowe, with a sar
castic smile, " Emily will compose twenty ro
mances upon the subject of this enfant trouvee."
" Then they shall all have happy terminations,"
answered Emily, " for I am determined my dear
little Fanny shall be a fortunate heroine."

The next day when the blooming Fanny, with
her ' crisped locks' of golden brown, her large blue
eyes, and lips like the parted rose bud, made her
appearance at breakfast, every beholder was
charmed, and * sweet little creature,' echoed from
every tongue. Even Mrs. Dawson, who was
generally apathy itself, where interest did not
excite emotion, felt her heart moved in favour of
the little stranger. Innumerable questions were
addressed to the sweet prattler, but her lisping
accents gave but little satisfaction to the curiosity
of her interrogators. They could only learn by

10 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

their questionsthat shehadnoj9opa,that she had
been used to live in very fine rooms, and that Mrs.
Sydney was her mamma, and that she was a very
old lady, and wore a black hood over her cap like
& picture, and that a pretty lady used to kiss her
at night after she was in bed, and cry over her,
and call her poor Fatherless Fanny, and that she
never saw that lady excepting at night. This was
the sum total of what they could collect, and they
were obliged accordingly to give over questioning
her. Of the bracelets and necklace which she
wore, and which had ' Fanny ' engraved, at full
length, in the inside of the clasps, she could give
no other account than that sheybwae/theinon her
neck and arms one morning when she waked, and
that Mamma Sydney had said the fairies brought
them because she was a good girl.

After little Fanny's arrival at Myrtle Grove, no
complaint was made by the young ladies of the
ennui that had hitherto consumed them; her
frolicsome gambols could even induce Miss
Barlowe to dispense with her dignity, and join
the little fairy on the lawn before the house; but
Emily doated upon her adopted child, and
could scarcely be prevailed upon by Mrs. Daw-
son to practise the hours which her progress in
musicdemanded. At length Miss Bridewell came
home from her visit in a very ill-humour ; her
vanity was considerably inflated by the attentions
she had received during her stay at the Mar
quis of Petersfield's ; but alas ! her purse had not
been proportionably increased ; for, although
her account for Lady Maria and Lady Isa
bella Trentham's education was of three years'
standing, no notice was taken of discharging it.
The fear of losing such honours as she co\ild not
enjoy elsewhere, deterred Miss Bridewell from
pressing her demand, and an additional share of
the Marquis and Marchioness's good graces was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 11

the consequence of such complaisance ; but, as I
have before observed, neither honours nor good
graces will support a household, and Miss Bride
well, much as she loved great people's sufferance,
felt most sensibly that it might be purchased too
dearly. She had her extravagancies as well as
the lords and ladies with whom she was so fond
of associating, and it was abominably provoking
to think that she could not purchase their soci
ety, without giving up the hopes of receiving
what could alone enable her to support the addi
tional expence incurred by its indulgence.

Full of these reflections, Miss Bridewell entered
her own mansion. It was evening when she
arrived, and little Fanny was already retired to
bed. Mrs. Dawson was summoned to attend Miss
Bridewell in her boudoir, as soon as she had a little
recovered the fatigue of her journey ; and requested
her to give an account of the occurrences since her
absence. This wily favourite perceiving that her
superior was disconcerted at something which had
crossed her wishes, endeavoured to find out what
the grievance was before she began her narrative,
that she might suit her story to the humour of
the moment; with a look of anxiety therefore, and
an affectionate pressure of the hand, she said,
" excuse me, dear madam, but I cannot speak on
any subject foreign to the one that now engrosses
my mind, until you have quieted my apprehen
sions respecting yourself ; your looks betray un
easiness; deign to confide your sorrow to the
most faithful of your friends? You are a
good creature Dawson," replied Miss Bridewell,
" and deserve to be trusted : your anxiety, how
ever, has overrated my present grievances, as I
assure you they are nothing more than what
spring from pecuniary disappointment. The
Marquis has not settled that long account, nor
even offered to accommodate me with a part, and

12 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR

I have some payments to make, that would ren
der a couple of hundreds very acceptable to me
just now ; as all the money I am sure of receiving
is appropriated before it comes, for the expences
of the last year. It is very hard to be obliged to
abridge myself of all those enjoyments which are
suited to my taste, and to which my pretensions
are certainly well founded ; Two hundred pounds
would be absolutely worth four to me at this
moment." Mrs. Dawson smiled, and turning
out of the room without speaking, went in search
of her pocket book, which contained the bank
bill that had been received with little Fanny. So
fortunate an opening to her cause was, indeed, as
far above her hopes as her expectations; and like
a skilful lawyer, Mrs. Dawson knew well how to
take advantage of it. When she re-entered the
room, she presented the pocket book to Miss
Bridewell. " Would to heaven," said she, " it
were always in my power to administer thus for
tunately to your exigencies, what wish of my
dear friend's would then remain ungratified ?
Miss Bridewell looked surprised, but mecha
nically opening the book, she cast her eye upon
the bank bill. " My dear Dawson," said she, as
she took it in her hand, " what can this mean ?"
" It means, my dear madam, that the two hun
dred pounds you were just wishing for is there,
at your command." Mrs. Dawson then related
the story of Fanny's arrival — produced the letter,
and described the child as a perfect cherub in
beauty, and a prodigy in sense. Her narrative
was worded in a mariner so well suited to Miss
Bridewell's particularities, that it had the effect
upon her mind her narrator intended it should.
The seasonable supply of two hundred pounds,
at a moment when it was so much wanted, had
put her into a good humour, and the artful man
ner in which the tale had been unfolded, com-

THE LITTLi: MKMMCANT. l.'i

pleted the favourable impression. Fanny Mas
received at her levee the next morning, in the
most gracious manner ; Emily Barlowe was
highly commended for having noticed " the sweet
little creature" as Miss Bridewell styled her new
pupil, and of course it became the order of the
day at Myrtle Grove to make " Fatherless
Fanny," (as she sometimes pathetically called
herself) the favourite of all those who aspired to
its lofty mistress's good graces. Every visitor
was shewn the " lovely girl" and were told, with
a significant nod, that time would prove the child
to be somebody. Never was there a happier being
than little Fanny ; endowed by nature vdth a
sweet temper, and the most buoyant spirits, en
joying the favour of every creature that ap
proached her, her little heart beat responsive to
the blissful feelings of affection and gratitude.
Emily Barlowe was, however, the dearest object
of her infantine love, and on her gentle bosom the
sweet prattler generally composed herself to
sleep when the hour of retirement arrived. To
Emily, Fanny was now become the summuni
bonum of happiness, who filled up every moment
of leisure with the delightful task of instructing
her darling, to whom every accomplishment was
imparted, hertenderage was capableof receiving.
Lady Maria Trentham was very fond of Fanny
too, and vied with Emily Barlowe in the task of
instructing her, and such was the zeal of the
teachers, and such the capacity of the scholar,
that the little favourite soon became a miracle of
cleverness, and was cited as an example to girls
twice her age, not only for application but ac
quirements.

At the end of the first year, Miss Bridewell
who had depended upon the annual two hundred,
promised in Fanny's recommendatory letter, felt
herself extremely inconvenienced at its not ap-

1 c

11 FATHKRLLSS FANNY ; OK,

pearing ; but when a second year elapsed, and no
notice was taken either of the promise or the child,
her patience was entirely exhausted. Poor Fanny
was no longer a favourite; butalittle troublesome
brat, that had been imposed upon her credulity
by some designing person, who, depending upon
the benevolence of her heart, imagined she would
keep the child for nothing, when once it had got
such hold of her affection as to make it painful to
her to part with it : however, they would find
themselves mistaken, for she was not a person to
be imposed upon in that manner. Emily Barlowe,
who was present when Miss Bridewell. was vent-
in £ her spleen upon this irritating subject, thought
to herself, " those who depend upon the benevo
lence of your heart must find themselves wits-
taken." " I will get rid of the little troublesome
impostor," continued the incensed Miss Bridewell,
" I am determined I will do so immediately.
Nobody shall dare to treat me in this manner
with impunity : I will advertise the girl in the
most popular newspapers, and if that expedient
does not make her friends come forward, I will
send the chit to the workhouse, where she ought
to have been sent at first, if Dawson had riot
been a fool" " My dear Miss Bridewell," said
the amiable Emily, as soon as she could get in a
word, " my dear Miss Bridewell, let me plead for
this poor little innocent, try one year more before
you have recourse to such severe measures ; per
haps the most fatal consequences may accrue to her
unfortunate mother, if you should advertise the
particulars of this mysterious story, and may prove
the ultimate ruin of the dear child. If nobody
comes forward in that time, I will pay you the
expences of this year of grace out of my own al
lowance ; and if you are determined to part with
the lovely orphan, I will write to papa for permis
sion to adopt her, and take her with me to Ja-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 15

maica when Heave school." Miss Bridewell knew
her own interest too well to refuse such a request
as the foregoing. She arrogated considerable
merit, however, in the concession, and Fatherless
Fanny, as she was now generally denominated by
her governess, was permitted to remain at Myrtle
Grove, the cherished object of the benevolent
Emily's affection for the space of another year.

That year elapsed like the former two, and yet
Fanny was not claimed by any friend, neither was
any money remitted for her support, and the gentle
Emily was obliged to pay, out of her allowance,
the charge made by Miss Bridewell for the last
year. This sacrifice of all the good girl's other
extra expences, was made with the most perfect
goodwill, in favour of her little darling, yet it was
not rewarded with the satisfaction so benevolent
an action was entitled to; for alas! in answer to
the pathetic letter she had sent to her father, plead
ing the cause of the unfortunate orphan, she re
ceived one from her mother, couched in terms of
high displeasure: — " I have intercepted the ridi
culous letter you addressed to your father," said
Mrs. Barlowe, "and I consider it a lucky circum
stance that it fell into my hands, as I know his silly
good nature would most likely have led him to
comply with your romantic request. I desire I may
never hear of such a thing again. Adopt a child
indeed ! I fancy you will find uses enough for
your fortune, when you get it into your hands,
without encumbering yourself with brats that are
nothing to you. Caroline would never have
thought of such a thin^ ; I am sure she has too
much prudence and good sense to encourage
such ridiculous propensities. Remember, girl,
t charity begins at home? '

This severe injunction was a cruel blow upon
the tender-hearted Emily, who thus lost the
power of snatching her dear Fanny from the

16 KATHKKLKSS FANNY; OR,

evils that threatened her. The good girl well

cT* ^*

knew that if she could obtain her father's ear, her
request would be granted ; but after this prohibi
tion from her mother, she did not dare to risk
Another letter on the same subject. Only one
year was now wanting for the completion of the
Miss Barlowes' education ; they were then to re
turn to Jamaica, and Emily consoled herself
with the reflection, that at least when she saw
her father, she should be able to accomplish her
wishes respecting Fanny, if that dear girl should
then stand in need of her assistance. Lady
Maria Trentham, who was Emily's particular
friend, would gladly have assisted her in main
taining Fanny ; but, alas, a profusion of line
clothes, and an unnecessary display of trinkets,
besides a truly benevolent heart, was all the poor
girl possessed. Any thing would have been
granted her, indeed, by her indulgent mother,
that did not require ready money, for of that
pleasing article there could not be less in any
house than in that of the noble Marquis of Pe-
tersfield; but poor Lady Maria knew it was of
no use to offer any thing short of the ready to
Miss Bridewell, who was already in Hamlet's
case, namely — * promise crammed?

The expedient of advertising the helpless Fanny
was therefore adverted to by Miss Bridewell, with
out farther delay, to the no small concern of that
lovely girl's juvenile patronesses, who daily mixed
their tears together at the idea of their fav,ourite
being removed from their society. The following
is the advertisement which appeared in the most
popular papers of the day, relative to the forsaken
.Fanny, and which Miss Bridewell dictated
herself :

CHILD FOUND.

Whereas .some ill-minded Person or Persons

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 17

left a little Girl at the house of Miss Bridewell,
Myrtle Grove, three years ago, with an intention,
no doubt, of defrauding that lady of the mainte
nance of the said child. This is to give notice,
that unless the before-mentioned little Girl be
taken away from Myrtle Grove, within one month
from the date hereof, she will be sent to the
Workhouse. The child answers to the name of
Fanny.

CHAPTER II.

A Misunderstanding.

LORD ELLINCOURT was a young nobleman of that
thoughtless kind, which is but too often met with
in this dissipated age. He was addicted to every
species of gaming, not from natural inclination,
but an acquired habit of idleness. His lordship
possessed abilities calculated to shine in the
senate, had their latent powers been drawn forth
by that best finisher of a good education — I mean
the society of the wise and virtuous. Instead of
that, however, this young sprig of nobility had
been precipitated into the vortex of extravagance
and folly, by his connexions at college, where so
many of his Right Honourable cousins assailed
him with the temptations, into which they had
long been initiated themselves, that between pre
cept and example, his mind became perverted,
and he forsook the paths of learning for those of
dissipation, and soon preferred killing time, by a
thousand extravagant follies, to the sober enjoy
ment of spending it in rational amusements, or
valuable acquirements. At his debut in the great
world, Lord Ellincourt kept a stud of race horses

18 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

for the sake of employment: two packs of hounds
for the same reason ; and for the same good mo
tive, when the pleasures of London confined him
to the metropolis for the season, (winter is no
longer in fashion) he drove, with the fury of a
Jehu, a tandem, dog-cart, a mail, and an inex
plicable, to the astonishment of the natives, and
the imminent danger of the sober foot passengers
who came in his way, whilst taking his dasliing
round through Bond-street, Pall Mall, St. James's
Street, and Piccadilly. Lord Ellincourt, like most
men of fashion, had many favourites amongst
thejfatr sex, but few upon whose fidelity he could
place much reliance. One exception however, he
had long been in possession of, who although a fe
male, had never for once broken her faith. Some
of his favourites received his lordship accord ing to
the state of his finances, and smiled or frowned in
proportion to the golden shower that fell into
their laps from his bounty ; but his little Fan was
invariable in the display of her affection, and la
vished her caresses upon her beloved lord without
considering whether he had had a run of good or
ill luck. His lordship was not ungrateful, and
his regard for Fan was quite equal to the one she
felt for him, nor did he ever think himself happy
when she was not by his side. Whithersoever he
went, his faithful friend went with him, and even
partook of his bed-room ; but lest I should be
supposed to be a retailer of scandalous anec
dotes, I must beg leave, in this place, to inform
my readers that poor Fan was & four- fooled lady;
and therefore the. intimacy that subsisted between
her and Lord Ellincourt could reflect no disgrace
on either party. A misfortune, however hap
pened, that disturbed the happiness of this loving
pair. Poor Fan was stolen away, and every
effort to find her proved ineffectual, although ad
vertisements, offering large rewards, were inserted

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 19

in all the papers. The loss of his dear little fa
vourite had been the theme of Lord Ellincourt's
conversation for many weeks, and his gay compa
nions began to grow weary of the subject. " What
nonsense it is," said Colonel Ross to Sir Henry
Ambersley, to be obliged to listen to Ellincourt's
lamentations for the loss of his little mongrel,
every time one meets him."

" Let's hoax him," replied Sir Henry, " and
cure him of such nonsensical prosing." " In
what manner asked his friend." " I'll shew you,"
replied Sir Henry, taking a newspaper that lay
before them on the table, and pointing out Miss
Bridewell's advertisement. " But what will that
do ?" again asked Colonel Ross ; " what hoax
can you make of that stupid paragraph ?" " You
shall see," answered Sir Henry, " here comes El
lincourt, and I will put my scheme intoexecution
immediately." Lord Ellincourt entered the coffee
room at the same instant, and coming up to the
two friends, he asked with his usual nonchalance,
" what news." " The best in the world," replied
Sir Henry, " your little Fan is found." " The
deuce she is ? but tell me, my dear fellow, the
wheres, and the hows, and all that? " I'll read
you the advertisement," answered Sir Henry, tak
ing the paper in his hand, and reading Miss
Bridewell's advertisement aloud, only substituting
the word dog in the place of child and girl, when
ever they occurred, suppressing the date, and
concluding line, respecting the workhouse, and
adding a threat tohaii£ the poor animal, if not re
claimed within a month. " What a barbarian !"
exclaimed Lord Ellincourt, " to talk of hanging
poor little Fan. If she was to do it I wouldburn
the old faggot. I will drive down there directly.
I know Myrtle Grove immensely well, I have been
there to see the Trentham's, with my mother. A
queer old figure that said governess is; I remem-

20 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

her her well. I did not like her phis. May I be
bamboozled the next Newmarket meeting;, if I
don't scalp the old savage with my own hands,
should I find she has used Fan ill, mind that."
Sir Henry and Colonel Ross laughed, "take care
you don't get into the stocks my boy," said he,
" remember you will be on classic ground, and
don't sin against the Muses." " Confusion seize
the Muses, and the classic ground too," rejoined
my lord, " little Fan is worth all Parnassus put
together. — Adieu. — I am off, I will bring little
Fan back, or the old Gorgon's head, I am deter
mined upon that." " Had not your Lordship
better read the advertisement yourself, before you
set out," said Col. Ross, offering the paper.
" Oh no, no," replied Lord Ellincourt, " there
can be no mistake, the description answers exactly,
and the poor little animal being shut up in that
bore of a place is the reason I have not been able
to find her before." As he spoke, his impatient
Lordship hastened out of the room, and left his
two friends laughing at the credulity with which he
had taken the hoax. " I little imagined," said
Col. Ross, " that he would have swallowed the
bait so easily." " You are a pretty fellow, too, arrt
you ?" replied Sir Henry, " I thought you would
have spoiled the joke. Quiz me if I would not
give a cool hundred to be present when he and the
old governess get at it tooth and nail." " What,
do you think they will fight ?" " I am sure of it,"
answered Sir Henry : "Ellincourt will insist upon
having his dog, the old girl will say she has not
got it, and then there will be a quarrel. She is a
very dragon, my sister tells me; and Ellincourt is
Cayenne itself: so if there be not a row, I shall be
surprised." This was by much too good a joke
to be confined to two people ; after a hearty-
laugh, therefore, the fashionable pair strolled out
on purpose " to set it a-going" and to prepare a

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

merry meeting for their friend Ellincourt, at liis
return from Myrtle Grove.

In the meantime Lord Ellincourt proceeded to
the livery stables, where his horses stood, and or
dering his grooms to prepare his tandem immedi
ately, and to follow him to Hyde Park, he walk
ed thither, anticipating the joy he should experi
ence, when little Fan was restored to him. The
drive to Myrtle Grove appeared of an immode
rate length, so impatient was his lordship to
reach the place that contained his long-lost fa
vourite. At length the white gate, leading to the
sweep before the mansion, struck his eye, and
giving a renovating crack of his whip to increase
the speed of his barbs, the dashing equipage pre
sently stopped before it. The porter answering
in the affirmative to the question whether Miss
Bridewell was at home, Lord Ellincourt alighted,
and was ushered into the elegant boudoir of the
vhodish governess. His lordship's patience expe
rienced a severe trial, whilst waiting the arrival of
the antiquated virgin ; for having sent in his name,
the lady was too anxious to appear in style to
think of coming before his lordship until she had
consulted her mirror, to ascertain the^exact state
of herdress ; in performingthis necessary sacrifice
to the graces, Miss Bridewell perceived that her
cap dicfnot become her, and she changed it for
another ; then her gown did not please her, and
she ordered her maid to bring her last new dress,
which was substituted for the one she had on :
when completely equipped, she descended to her
expecting visiter; who, having examined every
picture, and turned over every newspaper that lay
upon the table, was standing whistling in one of
the windows when Miss Bridewell entered the
room. She began a long apology, which, how
ever, Lord Ellincourt interrupted in the middle,
by saying, " dear madam, excuse my impatience ;
No. 2. : D

22 PATH Kit LESS FANNY ; OU,

your advertisement informs me that you have got
my little Fan, and I am in a great hurry to see
the dear creature." " And does little Fanny be
long to your lordship," exclaimed Miss Bridewell,
in a tone of surprise, whilst a smile of complai
sance expressed the pleasure she felt at the intel
ligence. " How happy 1 feel that the dear little
creature fell into my hands. I am sure your
lordship will be satisfied with the care [ have
taken of her." " You are very good^ ma'am,"
answered his lordship, with an impatient inclina
tion of the head, " 1 have no doubt of your kind
ness to the little thing, but I really wish to see
her ; she is a great favourite of mine, and so was
her mother." " Your lordship was acquainted
with Fanny's mother then," said Miss Bridewell,
drawing up her mouth in a formal manner. " Oh
yes," answered his lordship, laughing, — " her
mother and I were old acquaintances." Miss
Bridewell's formality increased at this speech of
his lordship's, but her features were rather re
laxed at the conclusion of it ; for he added, " and
so, indeed, was her father, I was very fond of
him too." "And pray, my lord," asked the prim
lady, u what is become of poor Fanny's father,
I understood he was dead ?" " 1 wonder by what
means you ever heard any think about him," re
plied Lord Ellincourt, " however, if it will be any
satisfaction to you to know it, I must inform you
he was hanged about two years' ago." " Hanged f
Did your lordship say hanged ?" exclaimed Miss
Bridewell, with horror and astonishment painted
on her features. " Yres, my good ma'am," an
swered his lordship, with a smile, " the poor fel
low was really hanged for sheep-stealing ; I did
what I could to save him, but my interest failed,
he was caught in the fact, and the farmer would
not hear oi -pardon. But what's the matter, Miss
Bridewell, you look frightened ?" "And enough

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 23

to make me so, I think, my lord," answered she,
"to reflect that I have been harbouring the daugh
ter of a sheep-stealer in my house all this time."
"Oh! is that all?" answered Lord Ellincourt,
laughing, " don't let that frighten you ; my life
upon it little Fan will never meddle with your
lambs. I don't intend to allow her to stay any
longer among them." " I assure your lordship,"
said Miss Bridewell, with a haughty toss of her
head, " the contamination has already been too
great. But pray, my lord, what is become of the
mother of this unfortunate female, is she still
alive ?" " No, she is dead too" answered his lord
ship, " I kept her as long as she lived, and so I
mean to do by Fan, if you willbut have the good
ness to put an end to this long cathechism, and let
me have the dear little creature." " 1 have no
intention of detaining her, I assure your lordship,
but I beg leave to observe, that I shall expect to
be reimbursed for the expences I have been at in
her maintenance and education." " The main
tenance of such a little animal," replied his lord
ship, " cannot be much to be sure, but as to her
education, I am certainly no judge of what that
may be, for I cannot imagine what the deuce you
can have taught her- she knew how to fetch and
carry before I lost her." " Your lordship talks
in a very odd strain," answered Miss Bridewell,
" but I can produce the master's bills who have
been empjoyed to teach her music, dancing, and
drawing" Lord Ellincourt burst into an im
moderate fit of laughter. " Excuse me Miss
Bridewell, but really 1 cannot help it. You edu
cating ladies are for instructing every thing that
comes near you, or you never would have thought
of teaching rcy poor Fan such a long list of
accomplishments; however, to make all straight,
I will agree thus far to your demand, if you will
prove to me that your scholar has learned any

24 FATiiiiKLiiSs FANNY; cm,

thing of what you pretend to have taught her, I
will pay for it whatever you think proper to charge,
for, upon my soul, I think 1 shall make my for
tune by shewing the little creature ahout the
streets. Dancing she may have acquired, hut
as to any thing else, excuse me if 1 don't believe
a word of it." "Your lordship is at liberty to
think what you please," answered Miss Bride
well, haughtily, tk but 1 shall insist upon being
paid before I give up the child. I will fetch her
to convince your lordship that she has capacity,
and that she has received instruction." So say
ing, Miss Bridewell flounced out of the room,
and left Lord Ellincourt mute with astonishment.
— " That old maid," at length said he, " is so used
to have children under her care, that when she
gets a dog into her clutches> she fancies she must
educate that, and talks about it till she believes
a spaniel is a child." Miss Bridewell was absent
only a few minutes, and she returned leading
Fanny by the hand, whose terrified countenance
and streaming eyes, plainly evinced the severity
with which her governess had just been treating
her. Fanny was now turned of eight years' old,
a tall elegantly-formed child, whose dazzling
complexion and beautiful features were calculated
to strike every beholder with admiration. Lord
Ellincourt gazed at her with surprise, mingled
with delight. " What a sweet creature !" ex
claimed his lordship, " but why is she weeping?"
" There, my Lord, is little .Fanny," said Miss
Bridewell, not noticing his question, " and if your
lordship was really as fond of her worthless pa
rents as you pretend to have been, you will not
think much at paying the debts their offspring
has contracted." " Upon my honour madam,"
replied Lord Ellincourt, " I am wholly at a loss
to guess what you are aiming at ; I never had
the honour of seeing the parents of that sweet

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 25

girl, at least to the best of my knowledge."
" Why, good heavens ! exclaimed Miss Bride
well, " did not your lordship say, rmt a quarter
of an hour ago, that her father was hanged for
sheep-stealing, and that her mother was a naugh
ty kept-womanl" "Who, I?" rejoined Lord
Ellincourt, starting, " I never even imagined
such a thing." w I am astonished at your Lord
ship; indeed I am," said Miss Bridewell, her
eyes flashing resentment, " did not 5OUF lord
ship say you were come to fetch Fanny away,
and that you intended keeping her as long as she
lived, as you had done her mother, and all that
we hesitated about was respecting the payment
of my demand for her education ?" " Here has
been a great mistake," replied Lord Ellincourt,
" and 1 feel very much ashamed of having oc
casioned you so much trouble. I came here, ma
dam, at the instigation of a friend of mine, who
told me you had found a little dog, belonging to
me, which I lost some time ago. The little ani
mal's name was Fanny, and hence originated the
mistake. My friend, Sir Henry Ambersley, read
an advertisement to me this morning, stating
the creature was found, and might be heard of
here. I am persuaded he did it for a hoax, of which
he is too fond, a circumstance I ought to have
recollected when he was play ing off this morning;
but the joy of finding Fan was predominant, and
swallowed up every other consideration." " It is
indeed, a strange circumstance," replied Miss
Bridewell, " and has been productive of much
trouble to me." " I am very sorry — very sorry,
upon my soul," answered Lord Ellincourt, " and
what concerns me more than any thing else is,
that I fear I have occasioned sorrow to this beau
tiful little angel," taking Fanny's hand, who had
dried up her tears when she heard his lordship
declare that she was not the daughter of a sheep-

26 FATHERLESS FAMiNY ; OR,

stealer. Miss Bridewell reached a newspaper
which contained her advertisement, and begged
Lord Ellincourt to read it. As soon as he had
complied with her request, he said, (f and is it
possible you intend to Send this child to the
workhouse?" " Yes, my lord, unless she be
reclaimed by the time I have specified." " By
heavens, you shall not !" said his lordship, " I
will pay for her myself, if no one comes forward
to claim her. I will keep a horse or two less at
Newmarket, to enable me to do it. Do you agree
to that, Miss Bridewell ?" " Miss Bridewell smiled,
and was vastly pleased with such an arrangement.
" Your lordship understands there are arrears /"
". Undoubtedly ; and as I have just had a run of
good luck, let us strike a balance now, let me have
your bill." Miss Bridewell complied with his re
quest ; and presenting her exorbitant demand,
which she had got ready drawn out in case of any
application from the child's friends, Lord Ellin-
court only looked at the sum total and immediately
drew upon his banker for the amount. u There,"
said he, " remember now Fanny is my child hence
forward, and mind you use the little angel kind
ly,' or blame me if I don't blow your house up
with gunpowder. I may come to see her some
times, mayn't I," added his lordship. " Certain!}',
my lord," answered Miss Bridewell, courtesying
low, " we shall always esteem your lordship's
visits an honour, and Fanny I am sure ought to
love Lord Ellincourt." " And so I do most dearly,
dearly," answered the sweet girl, holding up her
lovely face to kiss her benefactor. " T shall
pray for Lord Ellincourt every night and morn
ing, and so will Emily Barlowe and Lady Maria
Trentham, for they have been so unhappy about
me." Lord Ellincourt embraced his adopted
child, and said, that he never felt so happy in his
life; " No, by heavens," said he, " not even

Till: LITTLE MENDICANT. 27

when my Miss Tiffany beat Sir Jeffery Dollman's
Ganderface, and the bets won two thousand gui
neas.5' " Apropos,5' said his lordship,' turning
back as he was leaving the room, after having
embraced Fanny half a dozen times for farewell,
" I forgot I ought to see the Lady Trentham's,
they are my cousins." Miss Bridewell entreated
his lordship to defer that intention until his next
visit, and after some hesitation he complied, and
hastening to his carriage, dashed off in an in
stant. Fanny, who accompanied her governess
to the door, to witness his departure, followed the
carriage with her eyes full of tears — " what a
dear sweet gentleman that is,5' said the innocent
girl, " Oh how 1 love him." ** He is a very ge
nerous man indeed," said Miss Bridewell, and well
she might say so, for he paid her the' enormous
charge for the whole time Fanny had been with
her. The two hundred pounds that came with
her, and Miss Barlowe's generous contribution,
were therefore a clear profit, and Fatherless
Fanny thus became one of the most advantageous
scholars she had ever had.

CHAPTER III.

Mutual Explanation^

WHEN Fanny returned to the apartment where
the other young ladies were, she entered it with
a lively bound, and running up to Miss Emily
Barlowe, clasped her arms about her neck ; the
good-natured Emily's tears flowed so fast that
she could not speak; but Miss Barlowe, the
haughty Caroline, came and disengaged Fanny

28 FATHKllLKSS FANNY ; OU,

from her sister's embrace, saying in an ill-natured
tone of voice, " This disgraceful intimacy has en
dured long enough, I insist now on its termi
nation." Fanny looked aghast, and turning her
eyes upon the other ladies, observed contempt
and abhorrence painted on every countenance ex
cepting those of Emily, and the compassionate
Lady Maria Trentham, who, rising from her seat,
took the terrified girl by the hand, and said, "don't
be frightened Fanny, I will always be your friend."
" Indeed, but I say nay to that," interrupted Lady
Isabella, "a very pretty story, truly, for the Mar
quis of Petersfield's daughter to be the companion
ofasheep-stealer'schild! Here all the girls burst
into a fit of laughter, and poor Fanny was so
overcome, that, covering her face with her hands,
she sobbed aloud. Emily Barlowe could not sup
port the sight of her favourite's sorrow, but taking
her in her arms, she pressed her to her bosom.
" Nothing short of a parent's commands shall in
duce me to forsake this dear child," said she, " let
her be the daughter of what she will." Soothed
by this kindness, poor Fanny recovered her speech
— " I am not a sheep-stealer's daughter ; indeed
Miss Emily it was all a mistake, for Lord Ellin-
court said so." " Lord Ellincourt," exclaimed
Lady Maria Trentham, " was it Lord Ellincourt
who had just been here? he is my cousin !" " I
know it," replied Fanny, "and his Lordship asked
Miss Bridewell to let him see you and Lady Isa
bella ; but she begged him to wait until he called
next-time." u Is he coming again soon ?" asked
Lady Maria. " Yes," replied Fanny, l( very soon.
Oh how I love Lord Ellincourt." " And so do
I," said Lady Maria," he is so good-natured. I
wonder why Miss Bridewell would not let us see
him." " I don't know," answered Fanny. Miss
Bridewell generally had a motive for what she did,
that concerned herself nearer than any body else,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 29

and such was the case in the present instance ; for
her only reason for refusing Lord Ellincourt's re
quest was, that she wished to conceal, from a
person who had evinced such natural benevolence
as his lordship had done, the cruelty of her own
heart, which had led her to treat poor Fanny with
such unmerited severity, upon the strength of a
mere surmise. When Miss^Bridewell had quitted
the room to fetch Fanny to Lord Ellincourt, her
mind was impressed with the idea of the imputed
worthlessness of the child's parents, and proud of
an opportunity of revenging the anxiety she had
suffered on her account, she immediately spread
the report of poor Fanny being the daughter of a
sheep-stealer, by exclaiming, when she entered la
salle des sciences., " where is the worthless girl 1
have been wasting so much care upon?" Then
seizing Fanny's hand with an ill-natured jerk, she
added, " a pretty creature you are, to be sure,
Miss, to be brought into the society of young la
dies of rank, a shieep-stealer's daughter ! ! !" The
young ladies looked astonished ; " Yes, indeed,
ladies," said Miss Bridewell, " this girl is the off
spring of a kept mistress, and a man that was
hanged for sheep- stealing" The consequence of
such a speech to a group of young girls, proud of
their births, and tenacious of their consequence,
may readily be imagined ; every one was unani
mous in execrating the innocent object of their
hatred, with the exception of Lady Maria Trent-
ham and Emily Barlowe, who could only weep
over a misfortune they could not remedy. The
joy these benevolent girls experienced when they
heard Fanny say the whole was a mistake, may be
readily imagined, and when it was confirmed by
Miss Bridewell herself, who related the -story of
the dog, as an elucidation of the mistake, a hearty
laugh removed every vestige of sorrow and dis
pleasure; and the sweet Fanny was restored to
'2 E

30 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

the same portion of favour she before enjoyed
with every one of her school mates.

When Mrs. Dawson was informed that the
hurricane had subsided, she made her appear
ance in the circle she had quitted at the first in
timation of Miss Bridewell's displeasure ; for, as
she had been the ostensible person in receiving
Fanny, she well knew*, if the disagreeable report
proved true, she should be a material sufferer,
both from her stately superior and the young
ladies. Lord Ellincourt's generosity however,
had put Miss Bridewell into such a perfect good
humour, that Fanny was once more her" little
poppet ;" and Mrs. Dawson, from a " great fool"
was become her " dear Dawson" and received
the pleasing intelligence of the debt contracted
by Fanny, having been so nobly discharged, as
well as the promise made by Lord Ellincourt of
supporting the little orphan in future. " The
turn off about the dog, my dear Dawson," said
Miss Bridewell, " was extremely well done, but
I assure you it did not impose upon me, for I
firmly believe it at this moment, that Fanny is
Lord Ellincourt's daughter : but as much good
may be drawn from keeping the girl, you may be
sure I shall not breathe my suspicions, and I de
sire you to be equally circumspect." Oh, you
know, my dear ma'am, that you can rely upon
my prudence. I am as secret as the grave ; but
do you really think Fanny can be Lord Ellin-
court's daughter ? I understood his lordship was
only just two and-twenty, and Fanny, you know,
is turned of eight." Miss Bridewell paused —
then answered, in an impatient tone, " I don't
care how old either of them are, I have adopted
my opinion, and lam not apt to relinquish my
opinions when once formed.'1 Mrs. Dawson
knew this as well as Miss Bridewell ; she there
fore acquiesced without farther disputation, and

THE LiriLK MENDICANT. 31

Miss Bridewell proceeded to give directions res
pecting Fanny's future acquirements : notwith
standing her boast to Lord Ellincourt, no mas
ters had attended the poor girl since the defalca
tion of the payment. Miss Emily Barlowe had
supplied their place to the utmost of her abilities,
that her favourite might not entirely lose the ac
complishments in which she was making such
rapid progress. " That girl must be attended to
now," said Miss Bridewell, " for I dare say she
will go somewhere in the holidays, where her
advancement will be ascertained." " I will ob
serve what you say, my dear ma'am," said 'the
supple Mrs. Dawson, " you know the neglect she
has experienced was at your own suggestion."
" Yes, yes," replied Miss Bridewell, " I am
aware of that, but no doubt, you remember the
old French adage — < Point d "argent, point de
suisse,' and so it ought to be at Myrtle Grove."
u Undoubtedly," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " we
must not throw our attention upon beggars."

Whilst matters were settling according to this
prudent plan, at Myrtle Grove, Lord Ellincourt
pursued his way to London, singing to himself,
with a gaiete de cceur, of which, till that moment,
he had been insensible : this may appear a para
doxical assertion, after what has been said res
pecting the thoughtless life his lordship had
hitherto led, but to any of my readers, who may
have trod the flowery paths of dissipated pleasure,
it will not be deemed impossible that a disciple of
Circe, should be a stranger to genuine heart-felt
satisfaction — that sweet sensation of the soul, is
the result of conscious virtue, and the first time
Lord Ellincourt experienced its happy influence
was when he first reflected on a benevolent ac
tion ; it was not that his lordship was destitute of
humanity, or insensible to feeling, but from a na-

32 FATHERLESS FANNY;. Oil,

tural thoughtlessness of disposition, and an habi
tual propensity to dissipation, that he had never
before adopted the plan of extending the hand of
charity to the sons and daughters of misfortune,
as an expedient against the ennui of which he was
always complaining. Chance had now thrown
an opportunity in his way, trying a new kind of
delassement, and the result of the experiment
was, a determination on the part of his lordship
to pursue the path that had been struck out for
him. The motion of the light vehicle he was
driving was not more rapid than the progress of the
ideas that succeeded each other in Lord Ellin-
court's mind, as he returned towards the metro
polis. Fanny, the lovely artless Fanny, was the
subject of all these cogitations, and the fascination
that had seized his mind, increased with every re
collection. Her interesting countenance, at the
moment he first beheld her, still seemed to rise
before him ; her blooming cheeks suffused with
pearly drops ; her eyes of ' softest blue] turned
with a supplicating look towards him, that might
have softened the most obdurate heart. — te Sweet
creature!" said his lordship, as he drove along,
" I never spent money with such delight as that
I paid for her to-day. She shall be my child ! by
heaven's she shall, and I will maintain her like a
little princess !" This resolution filled Lord Ellin-
court's heart with pleasure, and when he drove
through the turnpike at Hyde Park Corner, he
was so absorbed in the agreeable reverie he had
indulged in, that he did not perceive Colonel
Ross and Sir Henry Ambersley, who were stroll
ing arm in arm along the pave, expressly for the
purpose of way-laying his lordship on his return.
" Ellincourt," exclaimed Sir Henry, exalting his
voice into the tones of Stentor, " where's little
Fan?" Lord Eliincourt drew up to the side of
the pavement, and extended nis hand to Sir

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 33

Henry, " a thousand thanks my dear fellow," said
he. " for procuring me the greatest pleasure I
ever experienced in my life. The little Fan you
sent me in search of, instead of a dog is an angel.''1
66 What have you been peeping at Winmfred
Bridewell's pretty heiresses ; Eh, Ellincourt ?"
said Sir Henry. Lord Ellincourt gave the reins
to his groom, and descending from his carriage,
joined his friends. " Old Bridewell is a down
right divinity, and Myrtle Grove superior to Ida
itself," said his Lordship, putting an arm through
that of the friend on each side of him. " He's
caught, hy all that striking," said Col. Ross,
" old Bridewell knows what she's about, I war
rant her ; she has been showing off some title-
hunting Miss, and 'the trap has taken a lord. A
true bill, is it not, Ellincourt ?" " That my heart
is touched, I allow," replied his lordship, "and by
a pretty girl too ; but it is an artless amour, I
assure you, on both sides, and owing entirely to
your hoax about the dog Ambersley. It is an
attachment that will last for life, however, I am
persuaded, and when I shew the. abject of my af
fection, if you do not say she is the most fascina
ting creature you ever saw, I will never cite you
for men of taste again as long as I live." u But
when shall we see her ?" asked Sir Henry, " for
you have set me longing ; is the show open to
every body ?" " Oh no," said Col. Ross, " I sup
pose Ellincourt has ordered her to be shut up
until he puts his coronet on her brow. Is it not
so ?" " Time will shew," answered his lordship,
" but this I will promise you, next time I go to
Myrtle Grove, 1 will t^ke one of you, for I sup
pose they will not grant admission to three such
sad dogs, and then you will be better able to form
your judgment of my charmer." " Hoax for
hoax, my word for it," said Colonel Ross, " Ellin-
court is only playing at reprisals. He has been

34 FATHEKLliSS FA.NXY ; OR,

put into the stocks at Myrtle Grove, for his ill-
behaviour, and he wants to get us into the same
scrape." " You may do as you like about going,"
rejoined his lordship, " but I give you my word
1 am in earnest, I never was more serious in my
life, and to prove it, 1 intend persuading my mo
ther to accompany me in my next visit. 1 shall
drive her in my mail, and you can sit with me
upon the dickey" I will go with you," said Col.
Ross, " if you are not afraid of a militaire. If I
should rival you, it would not be so well."
66 True," rejoined Lord Ellincourt, '• but I am
fearless on that subject. My Fanny will love me
best, see who she will." " 1 do not feel so sure
of that," said Sir Henry Ambers ley, " and as 1
have no inclination to measure swords with you.
I will abstain from going." " Comme il vous
jplaira" answered Lord Ellincourt, and the sub
ject was immediately changed.

The whim of adopting Fanny, did not turn out
like most of Lord Ellincourt's former whims, it
survived the lapse of several days, and seemed to
acquire strength from reflection. The Dowager
Lady Ellincourt, his lordship's mother, was one
of those indulgent parents that feel every other
sentiment absorbed in their maternal tenderness.
Her ladyship had been left a young widow, and
although several very advantageous offers had
been made her, she had remained in the solitary
state of widowhood out of pure affection to her
children.

Lady. Ellincourt had only two children living;
the son, of whom we have been speaking, and
one daughter, who was some years older than
her brother. Lady Caroline Mason bad been
married at the early a^e of seventeen, to the Earl
of Castlebrazil, an Irish nobleman, and resided
chiefly in that country. Lord Ellincourt was
therefore his mother's only solace, and there was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3.5

no request that he could make her, with which she
did not feel eager to comply. Her ladyship was
at her Villa at Richmond, when Lord Ellincourt
paid his visit to Myrtle Grove : she knew nothing
therefore of her son's new attachment, until her
return to Lo.ndon, about a week afterwards, when
Lord Ellincourt called at her ladyship's house in
Hill-Street, and broke the ice in the following
manner : —

" 1 have something to ask you, my dear mother,
that T hardly know how to begin about, for fear
you should disapprove of it." " What is it, Ed
mund ?" said Lady Ellincourt, with a smile that
might have encouraged even a more timid peti
tioner, " you know £ am not very inaccessible."

" I know it well," replied his lordship, " and
therefore I don't like to intrude upon your good
ness, but my heart is set upon your compliance."
" Is it money, Edmund ?" " No, upon my ho
nour, but I will not give you the trouble of guess
ing, my dear mother. 1 have taken a fancy to a
sweet girl, and I want your countenance for her."
" Edmund," said Lady Ellincourt, looking very
grave, " I hope you are not forming an attach
ment I am likely to disapprove of ; marriages
against the consent of parents are seldom produc
tive of happiness, and I have the most decided
objection to them from a knowledge of their fatal
tendency. My own family will furnish you with
an instance of the most melancholy kind, that
could not fail of impressing your mind with a sa
lutary fear of falling into the same error, were 1
to take the trouble of relating; the sad tale ; but I
know you have a great dislike to long stories, so
1 shall not trouble you with it unless you render
it necessary by your imprudence," " You give
excellent advice, my dear mother," replied Lord
Ellincourt, " but my attachment is not of the
kind you suppose it to be. The girl I have taken

•36 FATHLHLKS* FANNY ; OK,

a fancy to is quite a child ; she is destitute of
friends, and I am determined to defray the ex-
pences of her education ; the favour I want you to
grant me is your countenance for the sweet little
creature, which, when you have seen, you will ad
mire as much as I do." Lord Ellincourt then re
lated the trick Sir .Henry Anibersley had played
him, about the advertisement, and the visit in
consequence of it to Miss Bridewell's Temple of
Instruction. Lady Ellincourt laughed ; " Are you
sure, Edmund," said she, " that this is the truth,
and nothing but the truth ?'' " Upon honour ^
replied his lordship, " when you have seen her
you will not doubt it : let me drive you there to
day, my dear mother." '* Not to day, Edmund,"
replied her ladyship, " but I will accompany you
to-morrow."

The next day Lady Ellincourt kept her ap
pointment, and her son, accompanied by Colonel
Ross, drove her down to Myrtle G rove. Lady El
lincourt had been in the habit of visiting the
ladies Trentham, and was therefore personally
known to. Miss Bridewell, who being a devout
worshipper of high rank, was delighted when her
noble visiter was announced. Lady Isabella and
Lady Maria were called to see their aunt, and at
their entrance Lord Ellincourt demanded his dear
little Eanny. *Miss Bridewell, with a significant
nod, said " I waited for your lordship's com
mand : and rinp-ino- the bell, ordered the servant

^r CT v

to fetch Miss Fanny. The sweet child soon obeyed
the summons, and regardless of the presence of
Lady Ellincourt and Col. Ross, ran .with open
arms to embrace her benefactor, whose delight
at this testimony of her gratitude and affection
made him ready to devour her with kisses. As
soon as the loving pair could separate from each
other, Lady Ellincourt took Fanny by the hand,
and examining her countenance, exclaimed,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 37

"What a sweet creature! What is her name,
Edmund ?" " Fatherless Fanny!" replied Lord
Ellincourt, "she has no other." " 1 am not to be
called Fatherless Fanny any more," said the
child, "for Lord Ellincourt will be my papa." Col.
Ross smiled and looked significant, and Lady
Ellincourt pressed the sweet girl to her bosom.
A suspicion she could not repress, made her lady
ship incline towards the Colonel's and Miss Bride
well's opinion, although a moderate calculation of
their respective ages would have proved beyond
a doubt the fallacy of such an idea, as that Fanny
could be lord Ellincourt's daughter. The playful
innocence of the engaging Fanny won completely
upon the heart of Lady Ellincourt, who became
as warm an advocate for the scheme of adoption as
her son, and added her charges to his, in desiring
Miss Bridewell to attend to the education of the
lovely orphan, who rose proportionably in the good
graces of her governess, as she appeared to be es
teemed by the great people that lady so constantly
bowed to. Lady Maria Trentham, who rejoiced in
Fanny's good fortune, received her cousin with
more than usual cordiality, and Lord Ellincourt,
who had been informed by Fanny of her ladyship's
kindness to his favourite, thought he had never
seen the amiable Maria look so bewitching.

When lady Ellincourt found by her watch, that
she had staid to the utmost limits of her time, she
gave the signal for departure ; and lord Ellincourt
putting a little parcel into Fanny's hand, which
he told her contained a keep-sake, kissed her for
farewell, and the whole party separated.

During the drive home, Col. Ross repeated his
conjectures, respecting Fanny's affinity to her be
nefactor, adding, with a laugh, " that he could
not have supposed his lordship capable of so
much art as he had that day displayed ; why you

2 F

oH FATHKRLKSN FANNY ; Oil,

have done the old lady completely," said he. "If
you mean that I have imposed upon my mother,"
said Lord Ellincourt, "you are mistaken, for I am
sure I did not know there was such a being in ex
istence as jny little Fanny, until Ambersley sent
me on a fool's errand in search of her namesake."
" If that be really the case," said Col. Ross, "I can
guess what are your views with this girl. She is
a pretty ..creature, and will make an agreeable va
riation in your amours passageses bye and bye."
" 1 may have been dissipated and unthinking," re
plied Lord'Ellincourt, reddening with resentment
at the vile suggestion, " but I hope I am incapable
of deliberate villainy, such as you insinuate. The
precaution I have taken of giving my mother's
sanction to my whim ought to teach you better."

" You astonish me !" interrupted Col. Ross, " is
it possible that you have no other view but bene
volence in this munificent action ?" " None, upon
my honour, except, indeed, the pleasure of con
tributing to the happiness of a being I love, in a
manner, wholly unaccountable, even to myself,"
said Lord Ellincourt.

" Then I must compliment your lordship'sjpfo'-
lanthropy" rejoined the Colonel, sarcastically,
" and I hope you will let me participate in the
happiness resulting from such heroism, by permit
ting me sometimes to visit your beautiful pro
tegee in your company !"

" No, by heavens," replied Lord Ellincourt,
66 the man who could suspect another of such
baseness, as the deliberate perversion of inno
cence, is unfit to be trusted where he could prove
himself capable of the same turpitude, to the de
triment of a defenceless female." " Moralizing
too," said Col. Ross, " by all that's pretty ! Upon
my honour I rejoice in your lordship's conversion,

THE LITTLE MKKDICANT. 39

and cannot enough admire the superlatively
charming; cause of such a wonderful reformation."
Here the conversation ended, and the remain
der of the drive passed in silence on both sides.
Lord Ellincourt was piqued, and Col. Ross was
digesting a scheme which had presented itself to
his fancy, whilst conversing on the subject of the
gentle Fanny ; the accomplishment of which pro
mised to gratify two of his predominant passions;
namely — sensuality and revenge. Lord Ellin-
court had offended his pride, by censuring his sen
timents, and he wished for an opportunity of be
ing even with him : to deprive his lordship at
some future period, of the object of his generous
affection, offered a fair prospect to the diabolical
Colonel, of revenging the supposed injury, and
at the same time obtaining a beautiful creature
to administer to his unlawful pleasures, and
finally become the victim of them.

It was certainly a long while to look forward
to, but Col. Ross was one of those epicures in
sensuality, who could deliberately plan, and un
relentingly execute, the most atrocious acts of
cruelty, if they promised the slightest gratifica
tion to his depraved appetite. His wickedness
was systematic, and he had as much pleasure in
planning as in executing the designs he con
ceived.

But we will leave him to his cogitations, and
proceed with our narrative. The happy Fanny,
as soon as her new friends had departed, opened
the parcel Lord Ellincourt left with her, and
found, to her great delight, an elegant gold chain
for her neck, with a small watch suspended, and
a pair of bracelets to correspond. It will be ea
sily conceived how such a present must win upon
the heart of a girl like Fanny. She jumped
about in raptures, and displayed her " Papa's
present," as she styled Lord Ellincourt, to every

40 FATHERLESS FANNV"; OR,

creature that came near her, and the novelty of
possessing such a treasure, kept her awake a
good part of the night.

However she soon became accustomed to the
possession of trinkets, for Lord Ellincourt never
was so happy as when bestowing marks of his ge
nerosity upon his favourite. Anxious to purchase
good treatment for her, his lordship took care to
remember Miss Bridewell with a munificence that
completely won that lady's heart. The improve
ment of Fatherless Fanny seemed now of more
real consequence than that of any lady in the
house, and Mrs. Dawson and the subordinate
teachers were continually reminded of Miss Bride
well's anxiety on the subject. It has already
been said that Fanny possessed great natural
abilities, her rapid progress may therefore be sup
posed, under such advantageous circumstances,
and she soon became a brilliant proof of the skill
so justly ascribed to the preceptress of Myrtle
Grove establishment, in bestowing polite accom
plishments upon the pupils under her care. But
barren is that mind, whose improvement has been
confined to the study of mere ornamental acquire
ments ; the musician, the dancer, or the paintress,
however skilful in the various branches, will make
but a poor wife, if she be deficient in the more
solid and valuable qualities of good sense, good
temper, and, above all, religion and virtue.

The softest melody cannot soothe the ear of
pain, nor can the anxious eye of sorrow dwell
with delight upon the graceful attitude, or highly
finished picture. The knowledge of languages,
though carried to the highest pitch of perfection,
can suggest no comfort for affliction, nor strength
en the suffering mind to bear the reverse of for
tune with fortitude and resignation. Such know
ledge, therefore, may be pronounced in the words
of Solomon — "Vanity of Vanities," unless she who

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 41

possesses it has first sought religion in the page
of truth, and having found the divine precept,
made that the basis on which the superstruc
ture of the refinement was reared. The accom
plishments and graces which adorn virtue, may
be entitled to admiration. The skill of the lapi
dary may call forth the brilliancy of the diamond,
but cannot give the same lustre to the pebble.

All the pains bestowed upon Fanny's education
by Miss Bridewell and her assistants, would have
availed little, had not the good precepts instilled
into her heart by the amiable Emily Barlowe,
given solid it y to her principles. Piety is a natu
ral feeling of the youthful heart, and only re
quires some skilful hand to call forth its latent
energies, and give them their proper bias. Emily
Barlowe had been instructed by her father in the
principles of religion ; and her youthful heart
glowed with the fervour of genuine piety. With
what rapture did the amiable instructress awaken,
in the docile mind of her beloved Fanny, the
first conceptions of the Deity, and teach her
guileless lips to pronounce the first word of praise
and gratitude. Then- judiciously turning the
mind of her pupil from the adoration of the Cre
ator to the contemplation of the creature. Pity
for the various ills inseparable from human nature,
soon gave birth to charity, and the mercy she ask
ed of God for herself, she felt ready to bestow on
her fellow mortals ; not only in gifts of benevo
lence, but in acts of forbearance and good will.
Thus Fanny, in imitation of the example Emily
set before her eyes, became good-natured, patient
and forgiving from principle, and benevolent from
the irresistible feelings of her heart —

" Just as the twigisbeut, the tree's iuclin'd.
The superiority in virtue over the generality

42 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

of her sex to which Fanny afterwards attained,
might justly be said to owe its perfection to the
early instructions of the amiable Emily, who, like
a guardian angel watched the infancy of her fa
vourite, and took the advantage of that critical
season when the human mind is fittest to receive
the impression of piety, and which like the seed
time in agriculture, if once neglected cannot be
retrieved. And whilst she was anxiously incul
cating the principles of religion and virtue, she
took especial care to eradicate every tendency to
vanity or arrogance, from which even the best
dispositions are not wholly exempt.

Lord Ellincourt's presents were but too well
calculated to engender pride, and the praises he
always lavished upon Fanny's person every time
he saw her, would inevitably have rendered her
vain, had not the watchful Emily repressed the
rising emotions, and by expatiating upon the pre
carious tenure of personal charms, exposed as
they are to the ravages of sickness, and certain
decay of old age ; and explaining the still more
uncertain duration of human attachments, she
awakened in the mind of her youthful auditor re
flections that would have done honour* to a girl
double her number of years.

The effect Lord Ellincourt's attachment to Fan
ny had upon his mind, was of the most salutary
kind. With the genuine spirit of paternal affec
tion he was frequently calculating his expences,
and projecting curtailments of their extent, in
order to purchase some advantage or pleasure
for his darling, arid to the astonishment of all the
gentlemen of the turf, his lordship's stud at New
market was sold off, arid the destructive amuse
ment of horse- racing abandoned within a year
after he took the whim of adopting Fanny, be
cause he had made a determination to retrench,
in order to have it in his power to make a settle-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 43

nieut upon his favourite, which resolution it was
impossible to put in practice whilst he'kept up
such an expensive establishment, and incurred
such heavy losses as generally attended his gam
bling ventures.

Lady Ellincourt, who felt greatly pleased with
the appearance of her son's reformation, gave
every encouragement to his patronage of the
little orphan, and even indulged him so far as to
invite Fanny to spend a month with her during
the summer's vacation, at her country seat,
which lay in Yorkshire, on an estate that had
been lately purchased for her by her agent, and
was celebrated for the antique grandeur of the
house, and the beauty of the surrounding parks
and grounds.

To this delightful retreat the happy Fanny
was conveyed in Lady Ellincourt's coach, and
no sooner had she entered the great hall, than
she exclaimed in ecstacy, " Oh ! this is mamma
Sydney's house, do let me see her ?" and run
ning forward, she made to a door opposite to her,
and attempted to open it. The lock resisted her
efforts. " Pray open it for me ?" said the child,
turning to a servant, " Mamma Sydney is in there!
and I want to see her !" Lord Ellincourt, who
had arrived a few hours before his mother, now
came into the hall. " What is the matter with
my Fanny ?" said his lordship, " what is the little
girl doing there ?" " I want to see mamma Syd
ney/' replied Fanny, " and I know she is in that
room : she always used to sit there."

" Were you ever in this house before, my
love ?" asked his lordship, astonishment painted
on his countenance. " Oh yes, papa, I used to
live here, and this door you will not open for me
is mamma Sydney's parlour."

Lord Ellincourt ordered a servant to inquire for
the key of the room, and turning to Fanny, he

11 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

said, " Your mamma Sydney cannot be in that
room, for you see it is locked." Fanny stood in
the utmost agitation whilst the key was fetched,
but appeared too much struck to speak a word.
In the mean time Lady Ellincourt, who had been
speaking to her steward relative to some altera
tion that had been lately made, came up to see
what had arrested the attention of her son and
Fanny. When she was informed of the child's
assertion respecting the house ; " Some resem
blance, I suppose," said her Ladyship, " between
this and the house where she formerly resided,
but this could net be her mamma Sydney's house,
because the estate belonged to a Mr. Hamilton,
who had resided abroad some years before his
death, and 1 purchased it of his heir. The place
had not been inhabited from the time Mr. Hamil
ton went abroad, as its dilapidated condition
plainly proved, at the time I took possession of it,
about two years ago." At this moment the ser
vant brought the key, and the door was opened ;
Fanny ran into the room, but presently returned
with a sorrowful countenance. " Mamma Syd
ney is not there," said she, her eyes full of
tears, UI wonder where she is gone." u Are you
sure this is the room where your Mamma Sydney
used to sit ?" asked Lady Ellincourt. " Oh yes,
ma'am," replied Fanny, " see here is her work
table !" and the child going up to the fire-place,
raised a bracelet that seemed made for the con
venience of holding a candlestick or book, for
any body who chose to sit close to the fire.
" Mamma Sydney used to put her work bag upon
this, when she was working, and when she was
doing nothing, her snuff-box used to stand upon
it," said Fanny, " and sometimes a book ; and
when she had done reading, she would put her
spectacles into the middle of the book, and lay-
it down, and say to me, come puss, you must
divert me now."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4.5

Both Lord and Lady Ellincourt were very
touch struck with an account so distinctly given
of an event so remote, and her ladyship said she
would inquire the particulars relative to the for
mer inhabitants of her mansion, and endeavour,
if possible, to elucidate the mystery.

Fanny was now led about the spacious rooms,
and long galleries that distinguished the noble
dwelling, by her beloved " Papa? and every
now and then expressed her delight at the disco
very of some old acquaintance, either in the rooms
or their furniture, and her recollection of trivial
circumstances was so clear, that, notwithstanding
the evidence that appeared to contradict the
probability of Fanny's having been formerly
an inmate of Pemberton Abbey, neither Lord
Ellincourt nor his mother could divert their
minds from the belief that her account was
correct.

Every enquiry was made amongst the tenantry,
likely to elucidate the mystery, but to little pur
pose j their answers corresponded uniformly when
composed together ; — no lady of the name of
Sydney had resided in that house, or its vicinity,
nor did they believe that Pemberton Abbey had'
been inhabited by any body besides the servants,
who were left in care of it, since the departure
of Mr. Hamilton, until it was purchased by Lady
Ellincourt, a period of several years.

This was told Fanny ; but she still persisted in
her assertion, nor could any argument, for a mo
ment shake her opinion, or make her waver in
her story. Of her removal from Pemberton Abbey
she could give but a very imperfect account,
she remembered having been in a carriage a long
time, but whether she was carried, or by whom,
she could not tell ; all she knew perfectly was,
that her Mamma Sydney did not go with her, and
that the lady with whom she staid for some (fays

No. 3. G

46 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

before she was left at Miss Bridewell's, was very
cross with her.

A wide field was here opened for conjecture,
and Lord and Lady Ellincourt were left to wan
der in it, as all their efforts to obtain any light
upon the subject failed of effect. A circumstance
which occurred just before Fanny's return to
school, served to increase the perplexity of their
minds, and to raise their .curiosity to a pitch of
impatience, very ill-suited to the suspense they
were obliged to endure.

The apartment little Fanny slept in, was in the
same gallery as Lady Ellincourt's, and divided
from that room by a small chamber, which was
occupied by her ladyship's woman ; the screams
of poor Fanny, one night, awakened Lady Ellin-
court from a sound sleep, and starting from her
bed, the amiable Lady threw on her dressing
gown, and run to the assistance of her favourite.
Mrs. Parsons, her maid, was there before her, and
was supporting the terrified child in her arms.

" What is the matter ?" exclaimed Lady Ellin-
court, (f My dear Fanny, what is the matter ?"
" Mamma Sydney has been here ; she came and
looked at me, and when I spoke to her, she run
away and would not answer." " You have been
dreaming, my love, said Lady Ellincourt. — " No,
indeed, Ma'am, I was wide awake," replied the
child, " I heard her open my door, and saw her
come up to the bed with a candle in her hand,
and she looked so angry when I spoke to her,
that she frightened me out of my wits. Pray
dear Lady Ellincourt, call her back, and beg her
not to be angry with me." " My dear child,"
answered her ladyship, "this is mere fancy, I
assure you. Nobody could come into your room
without being heard by Parsons." " I heard no
thing, I assure your ladyship," said Mrs. Par
sons, " until Miss Fanny screamed out, and I was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4T

not asleep, for I had been indulging myself with a
hook."

It was with great difficulty that "Lady ElliiiT
court succeeded in pacifying the terrified Fanny.,
who lay trembling, and in the greatest agitation.
" The poor child has been frightened through a
dream," said the compassionate Lady, "so take
her into my bed, Parsons, she shall not be left
alone again to night, or her nerves may suffer se
verely." Mrs. Parsons obeyed her lady's com
mands, and Fanny was so delighted at being per
mitted to sleep with her dear benefactress, that
she forgot her terror, and her tears gave way to
such emotions of joy, that Lady Ellincourt was
sensibly affected, by a proof of attachment so un
questionably exquisite.

The next day, however, Fanny persisted in her
assertion, that she bad really seen her Mamma
Sydney ; nor could all Lady Ellincourt's disser
tations on the strength of the imagination, during
the influence of dreams avail any thing ; the child
still insisted that she was wide awake when the
figure of Mamma Sydney appeared before her,
and that the noise of some door opening had
awakened her. " It seemed said she, " as if a
door had been forced open that had been long
shut, for it made a bursting noise." " There is
only the door that leads from Parsons' door' to
your's," replied Lady Ellincourt, " and that you
know stood open ; you must therefore have been
mistaken, my dear Fanny." Fanny shook her
wise head : I cannot tell how it could be," said
she, " but I am sure it was as I say."

The room in which Fanny slept was pannelled
with cedar wood, which was carved in the most
curious manner, and had no doubt been esteemed
a chef-d1 ouvre of workmanship, at the time the
house was built. The child's obstinacy respect
ing the person she had seen, impressed Lady El

48 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

lincourt's mind so strongly, that she sent for a
carpenter to examine the wainscot, with the most
scrupulous exactness, in order to ascertain whe
ther there was any secret entrance to the apart
ment.

The scrutiny, however, produced nothing; to
elucidate the mystery ; the man declared the
partitions perfectly sound, and asserted that it
was an utter impossibility that they should con-
ce^l any way of entering the room impervious to
his mi't^te investigation. This satisfied Lady El-
lincourt ' an(^ sne returned to her first opinion —
i. e. That V£nny had been misled by a dream ;
and the circum^tance was so°n forgotte'n by the
child, as no recurred ce °f tjle same terror could
happen, as her joy at seeping with Lady Ellin-
court, had endeared her ^ much to that lady,
that she was permitted to rei^n the partner of
her bed during her stay at Pe^berton Abbey,
from whence she was conveyed to sch°°l? at the
expiration of the vacation.

The Christmas following the Miss B*crlowe>s
left Miss Bridewell's, and poor Fanny lost her
best friend in her beloved Emily ; her sorrow was
somewhat assuaged, however, by an unexpected
event. Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe had come to Eng
land to fetch their daughters, and the health of
the latter was so delicate, that it was judged ne
cessary to her recovery to breathe her native air
for some time ; she determined therefore to stay
a year in England, and thus Emily Barlowe had
frequent opportunities of visiting her dear Fanny,
as Mr. Barlowe entered into his daughter's feel
ings respecting the child, with all the warmth of
benevolence natural to his disposition. The high
patronage the little orphan now enjoyed, ren
dered all pecuniary aid unnecessary : but Mr.
Barlowe knew enough of the world to believe
that, notwithstanding present appearances, there

THE LITTLE MBNDICANT. 49

might come a day when poor Fanny would find
that friendship is no inheritance.

u If Lord Ellincourt should neglect to make
any settlement upon his adopted child," said the
good gentleman, " life is a precarious tenure,
and how soon may the sweet girl be exposed to
the frowns of a cruel world, or indeed, what is
still worse, to the various snares which are con
stantly spread for indigent beauty, by the remorse
less panders of opulent depravity."

" Surely," replied Emily, to whom this speech
was addressed, " surely papa, Lord Ellincourt
will not be so cruel as to leave the dear child
unprovided for ; his lordship seems so very fond
of her, that 1 should think such a thing im
possible."

" Lord Ellincourt is a very young man," an
swered Mr. Barlowe, "and besides ^hat, a very
thoughtless one. I don't believe, by what I
hear of him, that he ever did a good thing in
his life, before he patronised Fanny. Such men
as he think little about death, although there is
certainly no situation which is more exposed to
mortality, than that, of a true votary of fashion,
since, should their necks escape the perils of
charioteering — their health, the intemperate
excesses of midnight revels — their lives lie at
the mercy of every reprobate with whom they
associate ; for should he choose to call them out
for any frivolous offence, whether fancied or real,
the imperious laws of honour forbid them to
decline the combat : yes, such is the inverted
order of things, that he who has dared to blas
pheme his God in his common conversation, who
tas infringed the sacred rights of humanity, upon
the slightest temptation, and who has trampled,
in their turn, every law, human and divine, as
they opposed the gratification of his inordinate
passions ; such a man, I say, will tremble to act
jn opposition to the self-created law of the Mo-

50 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

loch of these days, at whose shrine modern idola
ters still sacrifice their children without remorse
or contrition."

If Mr. Barlowe had merely reasoned upon the
subject of Fanny's precarious situation, little
merit could have been arrogated for such a nega
tive proof of his regard for her, but that worthy
gentleman had not so much of the Pharisee in
his composition ; he never discussed any subject
either moral or divine, without acting up to the
principles he professed, and in this instance he
went even farther than common bounds of bene
volence, for he provided for a contingency which
appeared perfectly imaginary to every eye but
his own.

Before Mr. Barlowe left England, he vested
five hundred pounds in the funds, in the name of
Fanny, and appointed a trustee to apply it to her
use, in case any thing should happe^n to render
such an assistance necessary. As Fanny had no
surname, Mr. Barlowe had described her actual
residence at the time of the donation, and other
circumstances propex to identify her, with a pre
cision that proved his anxiety for her welfare, and
his own kind heart, beyond the possibility of a
doubt. The friend to whom the trust was con
fided, was charged too, to give immediate notice,
by letter, to Mr. Barlowe, should any accident
happen to place Fanny in circumstances of neces
sity, as the generous gift was intended merely as
a prelude to his further bounty, in case of such
an event, as it had always been Mr. Barlowe's
intention to indulge his daughter's wish of adopt
ing the pretty orphan, if it could be done with
out prejudice to her favourite; and although
Lord Ellincourt's bounty superseded that inten
tion for the present, Mr. Barlowe still cherished
the idea that the scheme might yet become both
practicable and agreeable to all parties.

The amiable heart of the gentle Emily felt the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 51

most grateful impression of her father's ^kind
ness ; yet, still she found it impossible to be
lieve any thing that militated against the exalted
opinion she had formed of Lord Ellincourt's good
ness. The benevolence his^lordship had evinced
for her favourite, in that trying moment, when
her own heart was nearly broken at finding her
self powerless in her cause, had first recommended
him to her favour ; the agremens of a handsome
person and highly-finished manners had com
pleted the conquest, and the gentle Emily had
bestowed her affections beyond the power of re
calling them, upon the unconscious Ellincourt,
before she even suspected such a thing was pos
sible.

A father's anxious eyes had penetrated the
guarded secret of her bosom, by them he had seen
nis daughter twice in Lord Ellincourt's company,
he had observed too with equal precision, that his
lordship's ideas had never wandered towards the
love-sick Emily, and his prudence suggested an
immediate separation. It was this conviction, too,
that had induced him to dwell withsuch force upon
the general depravity of fashionable men, in his
conversation with his daughter,which had j ust been
related, hoping that his just strictures upon the
manners of the great, would tend to weaken her par
tiality for Lord Ellincourt. But, alas ! when the po
ets described love as a blind deity, they ought to
have added that he was deaf also, and that his vota
ries were generally subject to the same infirmities.

Emily Barlowe had been accustomed to be
lieve her father's opinions infallible, but on this
occasion she either did not hear them, from the
reason above mentioned, or they failed in their
usual effect.

The year allotted for Emily Barlowe's stay in

England son glided away, and the mournful

hour arrived that was to tear her from dear Eng-

• land — her tenderly-beloved Fanny — and from the

52 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

contemplation of that admired countenance,
whose smile never failed of imparting delight, and
whose frown gave the thrill of anguish to her
heart.

Fanny was at Lady Ellincourt's house, on a visit,
at the time of the Barlowe's departure, and as
Emily was a particular favourite with her lady
ship, she was invited to spend the last week of
her stay in London, under the same roof with her
favourite. This was a dangerous indulgence to
the tender girl, who had now an opportunity of
more frequently meeting with another favourite,
not so congenial to her happiness as the blooming-
Fanny. Lord Ellincourt had always thought
Emily Barlowe a sweet girl, and felt grateful to
her for her kindness to Fanny, but he was too
much accustomed to the boldness of modern la
dies, whose beauty demand rather than wins ad
miration, to be easily charmed by unobtrusive
merit, and soft feminine loveliness, veiled by the
shade of genuine modesty.

His lordship felt surprised, therefore, to find
what a charming girl he nad so long regarded with
indifference, when a more social intercourse dis
played those attractions to his notice, which had
been hitherto concealed by the amiable diffidence
of the lovely possessor. " Upon my honour,"
said his lordship, the morning after Emily's de
parture, " upon my honour, I should have been
desperately in love with Emily Barlowe, if she
had staid a little longer. Where did she hide all
her powers of charming so long ? Most young la- .
dies are to be known now a-days, by conversing
with them two or three times ; at least all that is
agreeable in them ; but this lovely creature seems
to rise in one's estimation every time one con
verses with her, and I have never examined her
blushing countenance of late, without discovering
some beauty unobserved before, yet which ap
peared too striking to be overlooked by any, but

THR L ITT Li: MENDICANT; 63

an insensible. Can you tell me, my dear mother,
the reason of this late discovery ?r

Lady Ellincourt smiled. " The reason, my
dear Edmund, lies in your own breast, .where a
growing partiality has beautified its object, and
discovered charms impervious to any other vi
sion." " What do not you admire Emily then ?"
asked Lord Ellincourt. " 1 do, most sincerely,"
answered her ladyship, " but so I always did ; I
find no new beauties, she always appeared to me
a lovely girl, both in mind and person*"." I wish
you had said before, that you thought her so,"
replied Lord Ellincourt, with a thoughtful look.
Lady Ellincourt smiled. " 1 never wished to
direct your choice, Edmund," said she, "but if
it had fallen on Miss Emily Barlowe, I certainly
should have started no objection ; her fortune is,
Ic^rge, and her family unexceptionable ; but she
is gone, and you must endeavour to forget her."
*' That is impossible," replied his lordship,
whose imagination had grown warm, in discuss
ing the subject, u I can never forget the charm
ing Emily, and I have a great mind to follow her
to Jamaica." " Take a little time for considera
tion," said Lady Ellincourt, " the fit may go off,
a lover's eternity is not of long duration — some
times*" " You treat the matter lightly, my dear
mother," said Lord Ellincourt, but depend upon
it you will find 1 am serious ; in the meantime, 1
am glad to find this alliance does not come within
the censure of ill assorted matches, which I re
member you once seriously warned me against —
apropos, you said there was a melancholy instance
in our family, of the folly of such marriages ; I
wish you would tell me the long story, as you
styled it, I feel an inclination for such an indul
gence ; will you grant it me ?" " With pleasure,
my dear Edmund," replied Lady Ellincourt,
" when we have time to get to the end of it, which
.3 H

54 FATHEULESS FANNY ; OR,

is not the case now. This evening, however, t
shall be at your service. Fanny is to return to
Myrtle Grove this morning;, her young companions
will console her better than I can, for the loss she
h&s sustained, or at least make her forget her sor
row, for that is the only remedy, at her age.'' Lord
Ellincourt said " he would accompany his mother
inner morning drive, and assist in taking their
mutual favourite to school."

Fanny was now in her eleventh year, and beau
tiful as an angel. There was such an expression of
innocence and sweetness in her countenance, that
it was impossible not to love her ; and although
the tints of the rose, the lily, the violet, and the
carnation, combined to render her complexion
lovely, it was the emanation of her heavenly
mind that gave that brilliancy to her counte
nance, which rendered it truly dazzling. Lord
Ellincourt contemplated his lovely ward, as he sat
opposite to her in his mother's barouche, and
he was more than ever struck with her exquisite
beauty. That sweet girl, thought he, must be
protected with unceasing vigilance, or she will
fall a sacrifice to some of the wretches, her un
common loveliness will not fail to attract around
her. But, although Lord Ellincourt felt the ne
cessity of protecting Fanny, he neglected the
surest method of doing so, and thereby verified
Mr. Barlowe's opinion of him, that he was a
thoughtless, as well as a young man.

We will now, however, set down Fanny at
Miss Bridewell's, and jumping over a few hours,
or killing them by "Any. fashionable device, bring
our readers to Lady Ellincourt's fire-side ; where
her lady ship on one side, and her son on the other,
they may listen to our next chapter, which con
tains a long story.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. £6

CHAPTER IV.

i

A Long Story*

" MY father," said Lady Ellincourt, " was, you
know, the Marquis of Petersfield, but at the time
of his coming of age, there was very little pro
bability of his ever attaining to that dignity, as he
was only a very distant branch of the Trentham
family, and no less than thirteen living claimants,
besides the chance of there having children, stood
between him and the title ; yet such is the muta
bility of all human tenures, that notwithstanding
these opposing obstacles, my father became Mar
quis of Petersfield by the time he was eight-ami -
thirty. He was then a widower, with two chil
dren — my dear lamented brother and myself;
happy would it have been for us had he never
been induced to re-enter the pale of wedlock!
My father had doated on my mother, and he
transferred his affections to her children, when
she was borne from him by a premature death.
Never was a fonder parent, a more indulgent
friend, than he always approved himself to us,
whilst we were so happy as to share his love be
tween us.

" My brother was nearly three years older than
1 was, and the most perfect friendship existed
between us from the first dawn of reason. My
beloved Seymour was of so sweet a disposition
that he made it his study to render me happy,
and the little superiority he had over me, in point
of age, rendered him at once my instructor and
playmate. At the time of my father's second
marriage, I had just attained my fourteenth year,
and Seymour was seventeen.

£6 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

" The lady selected for our mother-in-law, was
every way my father's inferior, both as to rank
and fortune ; being merely the daughter of a
subaltern officer, who had been educated as half-
boarder to a school of repute, and from thence
attained to the employment of governess to two
overgrown girls of fashion, whose ill-judging
mother had engaged Miss Henderson to relieve
her from the irksome task of entertaining her
daughters, for instruction had been long out of
the question with the pupils committed to her
care. The eldest Miss Howard, was seventeen
at the time Miss Henderson entered Lady How
ard's family, and the youngest considerably turned
of fifteen.

" The girls were co-heiresses, and perfectly
aware of their approaching independence — their
fortunes were to be at their own disposal the very
day of their coming of age.

" Miss Henderson was artful enough to consult
her own interest, rather than the improvement of
her pupils ; she accordingly indulged there most
capricious fancies, and entered into their most un
reasonable projects with a degree of patient per
severance, that succeeded in rendering her indis-
pensible to their happiness. This was just what
Miss Henderson had intended, and she exulted
in the success of her schemes. Instead of being
dismissed when her pupils were presented, as is
usual with governesses in general, Miss Hender
son was retained as their companion, with an in
creased salary, that she might be enabled to visit
with them, in a style of elegance suitable to the
appearance of the ladies she accompanied. This
much wished -for intercourse with the fashionable
world, introduced Miss Henderson to my father,
and her ambition was fired with the hopes of ob
taining his notice as a lover, which hopes were
Afterwards but too fatally realized, for the welfare

i -LITTLP MttNDICAXT. ,57

of my unfortunate brother and myself. Miss
Henderson was the epitome of every thing that is
hateful in woman ; artful, designing, and insatia^
bly ambitious.

" In the subordinate station she had hither
to filled, %it had been necessary for her to dis
play the most unvarying complaisance. She had
appeared, therefore, to my father's infatuated
fancy, a gentle timid creature, wrhose diffidence
and unassuming mode&ty veiled half the perfec
tions of her mind ; and he exulted in the thought
of bestowing upon his children a mother-in-law,
who would be as solicitous for ther welfare as" he
was himself. Unhappy delusion ; which cost him
but too dear! No sooner was Miss Henderson
raised to the rank of Marchioness of Petersfield,
than all her complaisance, her humility, and her
gentleness vanished like the fading meteor.

" The most haughty airs, the most intolerable
caprice, were instantly displayed by the new-
made peeress, and felt by every unfortunate
creature who came within the circle of her
power. To my brother she took the most inve
terate dislike, from the first week of her mar
riage ; and Lord Durham's extravagance, arid
Lord Durham's idleness, the unformed rude
ness of his manners, soon became the unfailing
theme of her invective, \\hilst he was at home
the poor youth never enjoyed a moment's respite
from her malice; and when he returned to col
lege, his bills were censured, his allowance cur
tailed, and every vexatious torture inflicted upon
him, which cruelty could invent, or ingenuity
devise. Tome she was more indulgent, for she
felt not the same jealousy of my existence,
which disturbed her with regard to my brother.

" She was ambitious of becoming the MOTH.CK,
as well as the wife, of a Marquis ; and the birth
of a son a year after her marriage, rendered her
more formidably malicious to Lord Durham, than

58 FATHKRLIiSS FANNY ; OK,

she had ever been before. At the age of nineteen
my dear brother \vas sent abroad, to give that
necessary finish to polite education., which used
to be acquired by visiting the different Courts of
Europe, but which has been impracticable ever
since French anarchy has convulsed every Eu
ropean state with war and faction. The evening
before his departure, the amiable youth was in
my dressing room, passing the last few hours of
his stay in the parental mansion, with the only
person who appeared to lament his departure.
My father's affection had long been weaned from
him by the artifices of his cruel mother-in-law.

" * My dear Caroline,' said Lord Durham,
pressing my hand as he spoke, ( I am, at this mo
ment, labouring under an affliction of which your
gentle breast nas no idea. The pangs I feel at
parting from my sweet sister are severe indeed ;
but what will she say when I assure her that there
exists another dear one, from whom I cannot tear
myself without feelings of agony, nothing inferior
to those which part the soul and body.' t Good
heavens !' exclaimed I, ' what means my dearest
Seymour T ' I mean,' replied the sweet youth,
* that I have undone myself by my imprudence,
and that I have involved the most amiable of her
sex in my ruin — I am married t' £ Married !' re
peated 1, 'and to whom?' ' To an angel,' rejoin^
ed he, wringing his hands in agony, ' Oh ! Caro
line, your heart will bleed for her, when you know
her.' * Have you never hinted your situation to my
father?' enquired I, trembling as I spoke, for I
perceived such a wildness in my brother's looks,
that it alarmed me beyond expression. ' I never
touched upon the subject but once,' answered
he, t and then I was silenced in a manner too de
cisive to admit of my again renewing it.'

" £ But who is the lady ?' said 1, ( you forget
my anxiety, for I am sure you would not trifle

THE LITTLE M12NDICAXT. 59

xvith it ! ( You know Lady Emily Hinchinbroke ?"
* I do,' replied I, ' but surely it is not her, the
daughter of my father's deadly foe, the man who
would have deprived him of life?' * It is, it is,1
exclaimed Seymour, in an agony of grief, i ah!
why did 1 ever behold her face ? Why was I ever
taught the inestimable value of an affection that
has undone me ? But I will no longer keep you
in suspense ; the mornftil story is a short one : —

*f ( I became acquainted with the fascinating
Emily whilst on a visit to Lord Riversdale, her
maternal uncle, whose son has always been my
most intimate friend at college ; the attachment
was mutual, and I really believe its violence was
increased by the certainty that it never could be
approved by our parents, A secret correspon
dence has been carried on these two years be
tween us, and at length, in a fit of desperation, it
was determined that- we should be asked in
church, and married, as we were both under age,
and could not be united by any other means.
This plan was the suggestion of Sir Henry Pou-
let, Lord Rivcrsdale's son, who has been our con
fidant from the beginning of our attachment. In
a fatal hour we both acceded to it. Emily was
on a visit at Lord Riversdale's in Berkeley Square,
and as J visited there every day, with the freedom
of a son, the unfortunate scheme was but too
easily accomplished.

" ' It is now about five months since Ave were
united, amFalready have we deeply repented our
imprudent rashness, and yet our repentance does
not originate in decay of affection, far from it, our
love is more tender, more ardent than ever ; but
alas ! we see too plainly the fatal consequences
of our impatience. My own sufferings would be
nothing in my eyes, were it not for those entailed
upon my Emily. Oh ! that any selfish gratifica
tion should have induced me to fill that heart

GO FA Till: KL ESS FANNY; Oil,

with sorrow, that beats only for me ! The secret
has hitherto been kept inviolable, and I believe
unsuspected, but that security is at an end, for
Lord Somertown has fixed upon a husband
for his daughter, and she has received notice to
prepare herself for the event. The rich Marquis
of Alderney is his intended son-in-law. Emily
entreats me to leave her to the development of
our unhappy secret,, and assures me that she con
siders it a fortunate circumstance that I am about
to leave England, as she thinks her father's anger
will cool sooner when he feels the impossibility of
wreaking it upon me ; but these arguments have
little weight with a heart so anxious as mine,
and I would rather brave his utmost fury than
leave my angel Emily, to encounter the slightest
share of his resentment. I have done every thing
in my power to delay my journey, but nothing
can avail me to protract my departure any longer,
unless I make a premature discovery, which must
inevitably prove fatal to us both. I am constrain
ed, therefore, to abandon her my soul holds dear
est upon earth, at the moment she stands most in
need of my support.

" ( All our hopes rest upon some accidental
rupture of the marriage treaty, between Lord
Somcrtown and the Marquis of Alderney. If
Emily could but remain unmolested until I am
of age, every thing would be well. Henry
Poulet has promised to give me notice, should any
violent step be taken with my Emily, that I may
fly to her succour; for what barriers could pre
vent me from returning, if her danger called for

C? ' ^j

my protection ? No impediment that -seas, rocks,
or mountains can present, could for an instant in
timidate a mind absorbed as mine is, by one ob
ject, dearer than life itself.

" i I listened to this recital of my brother's un-
fortunate story with an aching heart, too well ac-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 61

quainted with the animosity that existed between
Lady Emily's father and my own, to form the
slightest hope of their ever being reconciled ;
my phrophetic eye beheld in an instant the phial
of vengeance poured upon their devoted heads.
Lady Petersfield I knew would aggravate every
thing likely to render my brother obnoxious to
my father's anger, and I too plainly foresaw that
the unpropitious union would not be long a secret.
Yet still I thought it better that my brother
should not be within reach of Lord Somevtown's
vengeance, during the first emotions of fury that
would follow the fatal discovery ; 1 therefore
urged his immediate departure : and, endeavour
ing to veil my own agonized feelings, I spoke
the words of hope, whilst my heart trembled
with terror ; my faultering accents, however, but
ill-accorded with the cheerfulness I wished to
inspire. Seymour wrung my hand, whilst agony
was painted on his countenance. i It is in vain,
my sister, that you attempt to console me — that
pale cheek — that quivering lip — and tear- fraught
eye, but too plainly tell me what you think of
our situation. The die is cast, and our fate is ir
revocable. To heaven I commend my Emily.
Ah, surely innocence, such as her's, will not
be forsaken ! And yet why should I abandon
her ? No ! I will stay, and brave the worst ; I will
this nio-ht confess my marriage to my father, and
implore his protection for my adored wife ; he
will not, I am sure, be able to resist the elo
quence of a love like mine.'

" ' For heaven's said,' interrupted I, ' think
no moie of such a mad scheme, replete with in
stant ruin. You talk of softening my father by
your eloquence ; but oh ! tell me who shall oe
found sufficiently skilled in persuasion, to soothe
the anger of Lord Somertown ! You are both
under age, the marriage can therefore be set

3. i

62 FATHERLESS FANNY ; Ott,

aside, and you may depend upon it that will be the
first step her vindictive father would take, should
you by a premature disco very, put it into his power
to do so. You are going; abroad, when vou return

, ~ ~ 7 •'

you will be of age. It will be easy to find oppor
tunity of rendering your marriage indissoluble
by repeating the ceremony, and who knows what
accidents may intervene during the period of
your absence, that may render its renewal more
propitious. Lord Somertown is not immortal,
and should he die, I am sure my father's animo
sity would die with him. He is too good a man
to visit the sins of the father upon the innocent
offspring,'

" ' True, my dear sister,' replied Lord Dur
ham, * but instead of the fair prospect, you en
deavour to place before my eyes, suppose my
Emily's stern parent should insist upon her giv
ing her hand to another ; what will become of
the timid girl, unsupported as she will then be
by the husband, for whose sake she must brave
the brutal fury of that most vindictive man ?'
c Should any treaty of marriage be likely to be
brought to a conclusion,' said I, ( it will then
be time enough for you to return and acknow-
lege your marriage. I promise to take the first
opportunity of getting an interview with Lady
Emily ; I visit a lady who is intimate with her,
we will then lay a plan for carrying on a corres
pondence, and I promise to inform you of every
movement which seems likely to threaten your
beloved Emily with danger.' * Kind beloved sis-r
ter !' exclaimed my brother, pressing my hand,
( I will rely on your friendship, and be guided by
your advice, and believe me, it is no small conso
lation to me, in this hour of trial, to possess a con
fidant so ready to sympathize in my sufferings.'

" Soon after this conversation, my brother took
his leave, and I passed the remainder of the night

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 63

in tears and lamentations, without attempting to
undress myself or go to bed. At the peep of
day, I heard the carriage that was to convey him
away come to the door. I crept to my window,
and saw him step into it, attended by his tutor,
the door closed upon him, and the rattling of the
wheels was soon lost in distance. 1 listened to
the last faint sound, and throwing myself upon
my bed, I exclaimed, < he is gone ! I shall see
that beloved face no more !' My tears nearly suf
focated me, and I sank upon my pillow in an ago
ny of woe. Alas ! my words were prophetic — 1
saw the noble youth no more ! He was doomed
to fall beneath the murderous steel of an assas
sin ! But I must not anticipate the catastrophe.

" Lord Durham was no sooner gone, than our
cruel mother-in-law set every engine to work to
ruin him with his father. Through the medium
of a discarded servant from Lord Somertown's,
she learned the secret of my brother's attach
ment to Lady Emily — of the marriage, however,
she knew nothing, nor do I believe a suspicion of
such a circumstance ever crossed her imagina
tion. This was, however, sufficient to exasper
ate my father, the bare idea of a connexion be
tween his son and the daughter of his implaca
ble enemy, filled him with fury, and so artfully
did his unprincipled wife work upon his irritated
feelings, that he took a solemn oath never to see
his son again if he persisted in his choice^of Lady
Emily for a wife.

" This resolution was communicated to my un
fortunate brother, in a letter from his incensed
father, who imprecated the most dreadful male
dictions upon his son's head, should he dare to
act in disobedience to his commands.

" My Brother was at Nice when he received
the fatal mandate, and he pursued his way to
Italy, with a heart nearly broken with anguish
and remorse. In the mean time I had fulfilled

64 "* ATHEKLr.RX FANNY ; Oft,

my promise of cultivating Lady Emily's friend
ship, and I often had the satisfaction of observ
ing that the sweet girl seemed to receive the
most salutary consolation from our mutual con
fidence. We could not meet openly, but we en
joyed our friendly intercourses unsuspected, at
the house of a third person. Poor Lady Emily's
health began to decline rapidly : she became pale
and thin, and the depression of her spirits seemed
to increase daily ; she was so urgent for me to
pass as much time as possible with her, that I
often went imprudent lengths to gratify her, and
the consequence was, that the implacable Lady
Petersfield discovered our intimacy by means of
some of her spies ; this was fresh food for her
malice, and she did not fail to make use of it, to
the destruction of the unhappy lovers.

" Lady Emily had shewn so much firmness in
the refusal of the Marquis of Alderney's addres
ses, that her father, who did not in the least de
gree suspect the cause of it, yielded to her ob
stinacy, and dismissed the lover. What then was
his fury when he was informed by a letter from
Lap!y Petersfield, that there was a secret corres
pondence carried on between his daughter and
Lord. Durham. The letter was couched in terms
of haughty defiance, and implied to have been
written by my father's order; it contained a pe
remptory injunction to put a stop to the con
nexion, or to tremble for the consequences.

" No language could do justice to the rage
that agitated the furious Earl, when he had read
the fatal letter ; he sent for Lady Emily into his
presence, arid so violent was the paroxysm of his
anger, that he would certainly have made her
its victim, by destroying her the instant she came
before him, but for the timely interference of a
servant, who came to her assistance, and forcibly
dragged her from-her enraged father, at the peril

THE L1TTLF. MENDICANT. 65

of his own life, and conveyed her out of her pa
ternal mansion before Lord Somertovvn was aware
of his intention. The sweet girl lay concealed in
an obscure lodging for several days, and the ser
vant having disappeared also, the voice of scandal
soon spread the report that Lord Somertown's
daughter had ran off with her father's footman.

" Lady Petersfield took care to have several
paragraphs respecting this pretended elopement
inserted in different papers, and collecting the
various reports together, she made a packet of
them aikd sent them with Lord Durham's letters
to Florence. A. letter from me, however, went
by the same mail, which informed my brother of
Lord Somertown's ill-treatment of Lady Emily,
and her fortunate escape from his tyranny. I
assured him his beloved Emily was in safe hands,
and had determined to return no more to her fa
ther, as she found herself in a fair way of becom
ing a mother, and therefore knew too well the
fatal consequences of such a circumstance being
known to her father, to risk so dangerous a step.
I endeavoured to inspire my brother with a de
gree of confidence I did not feel myself, but my
letter produced the contrary effect, for it made
him take the rash resolution of returning imme
diately to England.

" His tortured mind beheld his beloved wife
exposed to every danger, both from relations and
strangers. Oppressed by her father, traduced by
the world, and defenceless amidst a host of ene
mies. The picture was too horrible to dwell
upon, and without giving me any notice of his
intention, the unfortunate youth set out on his
retrogade journey. In the mean time every effort
was made by Lord Somertown to discover the re
treat of his daughter, but without success ; she
still eluded his vigilance, and was so fortunate as
to reach the house of a generous friend, who had

66 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

determined to run all risks for her sake, without
any suspicion being awakened among the nume
rous spies who were upon the watch to detect her
movements; as soon as I was informed of this
lucky circumstance, I wrote the pleasing news to
my brother, little imagining that he was on his
way to England, regardless of danger, and impa
tient of delay.

" At this time my father removed his family to
the country for the summer, and I was under the
necessity of accompanying him ; this was a cruel
trial to me, as I found it very difficult to obtain
any intelligence of Emily, as it was impossible to
write to her by direct means, and the tedious me
thods I was forced to adopt, rendered my sus
pense and anxiety intolerable. At length the
agreeable news reached me that she had given
birth to a daughter, and was in a fair way to do
well.

" How did I exult at that moment in the pleasing
reflection that the sweet infant had escaped the
fury of Lord Somertown, from whose vindictive
rage 1 felt the most dreadfulapprehensions. Alas!
I had but little time for exultation, as a very few
days only elapsed before the deepest sorrow over
whelmed me in the premature death of the most
amiable of brothers. Lord Durham had pursued
his journey to England with such unremitting di
ligence, that he arrived in London before I
thought it probable he had received my letter.

" Disappointed at not finding me in town, he
wrote to me in haste to enquire the retreat of his
beloved Emily. This letter, by one of those un
lucky chances that too frequently occur, in clan
destine proceedings, fell into the hands of our im
placable mother-in-law.

" Lord Durham's hand-writing was well known
to her, and as the London post-mark struck her eye,
her fertile imagination presented the possibility of

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 67

my brother's return to England, on Lady Emily's
account. Lady Petensfield had no idea that the
unhappy pair were already united, but supposed
that Lord Durham had been brought back by
Emily's entreaties, that the union might be ce
mented. There was nothing Lady Pctersfield
dreaded more than my brother's marrying, and
she naturally concluded, as he was so much at
tached to Lady Emily, if she could but prevent
the hiarriage, there would be little danger of his
making another choice. Full of these ideas,
therefore, the cruel woman carried my brother's
letter to my father without breaking the seal,
and imparting her sentiments to him, upon the
subject, left it to his own option whether he
would read it or not. My father did not hesitate
a moment, but tearing open the fatal letter, he
soon became master of the carefully-concealed
secret,

" Good Heavens ! what a scene followed ! I
was sent for by my enraged parent, and loaded
with every epithet anger could dictate or passion
utter ! In accents scarcely articulate from fury,
he demanded the place of Lady Emily's retire
ment, and said he would not only disinherit, but
instantly renounce me, if I refused to satisfy him
on that head. His threats, had, however, no other
effect than that of determining me to keep the
secret inviolable. ' Oh! my father,' said I, throw
ing myself on my knees before him, c oh! my fa
ther, spare ^our unhappy daughter, and tempt
her not to betray confiding friendship. I have
solemnly swore not to reveal to any one the re
treat of my unhappy sister, and I cannot break
the sacred vow, though you were even cruel
enough to fulfil your dreadful threats, and crush
me beneath the weight of your vengeance,'

" * Begone from my presence, serpent,' said my
father, * begone, or I shall curse thee! Hovr soon
does a girl, when she is made the confidant of a

68

FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

romantic love story, lose all sense of duty, all
shame of acting rebellious to her parents. You
talk of friendship with your father's bitter enemy,
and would prefer wounding his heart, to the un
pardonable crime of betraying his highly-prized
friend. But call her not your sister, at your peril,
give her not that name. She is not — she cannot
be that — no marriage can be good which is con
tracted by a minor, and I will take care your bro
ther shall have no opportunity of renewing the
contract. Begone to your apartment, girl, and
in that retirement endeavour to recall to your
perverted mind some sense of filial duty. I forbid
you to leave your room until I withdraw the pro
hibition, and if you value your brother's happi
ness, attempt not to write to him.'

" 1 obeyed my father's harsh mandate in silence,
and retired slowly to my room, where I had the
mortification of finding myself constantly attend
ed and closely watched by Lady Petersfield's
confidential friend — a creature who seemed to
bear an instructive hatred both to my brother and
myself.

" In the mean time my father wrote to Lord
Durham, and informed him that having come to
a knowledge of his most unpardonable miscon
duct, in attaching himself to Lady Emily, he of
fered him his pardon, on one condition only,
namely, to return immediately to the Continent,
without attempting to see the object of his impru
dent choice. ' All efforts to obtain an interview/
added my father, ' will prove ineffectual, and
only serve to expose you to my just resentment,
as Lady Emily is now in her father's house, where
I hope she will recover a proper sense of her duty,
and no longer endeavour to seduce you from
your's.'

" The receipt of this letter, instead of intimidat
ing my brother, as it was intended to do, had a
contrary effect, and determined him instantly to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 69

declare his marriage to both families, and demand
his wife. Full of this resolution, he wrote a letter
to his father, acknowledging his fault in having
taken a step of such importance, without his sanc
tion, but at the same time declaring that it was his
fixed resolve to abide by the consequences, be
they what they might, and live only for his Emily.
' I am going,' added he, * to demand her of her
cruel father, for she shall no longer remain under
his tyranny.'

" The letter concluded with the most affecting
entreaty lor pardon, and an appeal to Lord Pe-
tersfield's parental feelings in behalf of his unfor
tunate son. As soon as my brother had despatch
ed this letter, he Hew to Lord Somertown s, and
requested an interview with his lordship. To his
surprise he was immediately admitted. Lord
Somertown received him with haughty coldness,
but without any appearance of the violence he had
expected. Encouraged by this, Lord Durham,
entered upon an immediate explanation of his
marriage with Lady Emily, and in a mild but de
termined manner desired to be allowed to see her.

" ' Who told you she was in my house ?' asked
Lord Somertown. ' My father,' replied Lord
Durham. * The information is worthy the infor
mer,' rejoined the exasperated Earl, whose coun
tenance now bore testimony to the rage that boiled
within his bosom. * I will tell you what, young
man,' added he, in a voice scarcely articulate
through stifled fury, ' I will tell you what, you
have injured me beyond the reach of remedy, and
1 will have vengeance. Remember ! I tell you so.
As to my daughter, she is not nor ever shall be,
your wife : much sooner would I see her expire
beneath the tortures of the rack, than acknow
ledge such an union. Your boasted marriage is
null and void, for you are both under age ; name
it not again, for I will annul it.

No. 4. K

70 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" ' My marriage is valid, and no power can an
nul it,' replied Lord Durham, * we were married
at our parish church, after having the banns pub
lished three times, in the same place, according
*o the form prescribed ; and had you, my lord,
attended public worship, as you ought to do, you
would have had an opportunity of forbidding the
banns, if the marriage did not meet with your ap
probation,'

" ' Vile traitor !' exclaimed Lord Somertown,
4 begone from my presence : and he rang the bell
for the servants to turn my brother out, which
they did by force, with the most insolent brutality.
" ' Remember,' cried Lord Somertown, as the
men were dragging my brother out, ' remember I
will annul the marriage, there are more ways than
one of doing it. No Trentham shall unite with my
family, and live.' When my brother returned
home, he wrote a letter to me relating all that had
passed at Lord Somertown's, and entreating me to
inform him whether his Emily was, indeed, un
der her father's roof.

" My brother desired me to endeavour to soften
his father in his favour, and to lend him what as
sistance I could, in finding his beloved wife. The
writing of this letter, was the last action that was
known of the unfortunate youth's life. A note
had been given him, whilst he was employed in it,
and as soon as he had finished it he took his hat
and went out. His servant waited up for him,
until the dawn of day, and felt great alarm at his
staying out, as it was very unusual with my bro
ther to do so. When the porter got up, Lord
Durham's valet went to bed, and having slept till
nine o'clock, found his anxiety greatly encreased,
when he learned that his Lord had not yet re
turned.

" My father, on the receipt of my brother's
letter, had set off immediately for London, and
arrived there late the same night.

TK-E LITTLE KfiNBICANT. 71

" The house was in the utmost confusion when
he alighted from his carriage, as the bleeding
body of my brother had just been found in Ken
sington Gardens, and recently owned by his affec
tionate valet, whose anxiety for his master's safety
had led him all over the town in search of him.
The report of a wounded gentleman being found
in Kensington Gardens, soon reached his ears,
and he flew to the spot whither Lord Durham
had. been conveyed by the person who found him,
and where surgical aid had been administered in
vain ; for although my dear brother shewed signs
of life for several hours after he was found, he
never spoke, nor gave the least token of sensibi
lity, and every glimmering of hope was fled, and
the last faint struggle over, before poor Graham
arrived, who instantly recognised his beloved
master, when he looked upon his lifeless corpse,
disfigured as it was by wounds and blood ; and on
searching his pockets narrowly, a note, which
had escaped the notice of the first examiners, was
found, which Lord Durham had received only a
few minutes before he left his father's house, and
which no doubt, led him to the spot where he was
murdered.

*'The hand writing was an imitation of Lady
Emily's, and the words were merely these: —
* Precisely at five o'clock this afternoon, you will
find a person at Kensington Garden gate, who
will lead you to your faithful wife. — Emily.'

" A latent hope of reviving his dear Lord, not
withstanding his lifeless appearance, and the
opinion of the surgeon, had induced poor Gra
ham to have my brother conveyed home, where
every aid was immediately summoned, that
anxiety and affection could suggest ; but human
help was of no avail, the vital spark had fled,
and the inanimate body was incapable of receiv
ing succour.

" The fatal sentence had just been pronounced

72 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

by the surgeons Graham's care had assembled,
at the moment of my father's arrival. It is im
possible to describe the agony of that distracted
parent when the fatal news was revealed to him.
He had set out on his journey with sentiments of
the most violent anger towards his son, and de
termined at all events to annul the marriage,
which was the cause of his displeasure, little ex
pecting to find it for ever set aside, by a catas
trophe so fatal. The circumstances of my poor bro
ther's being discovered were extraordinary. Two
men employed in the gardens had heard the re
port of two pistols whilst they were at the oppo
site side of the gardens, they both agreed that it
was a duel, and made the best of their way to
wards the spot the sound appeared to come from.
" They were some time, however, before they
found any thing to confirm their suspicions. As
it was a rainy day no person was walking, and
when they had looked, in vain, for some traces of
the supposed duellists, they were about to aban
don their opinion, and return to their work, when
one of them stumbled over something lying on
the grass, and on stooping to examine what it was,
found a pistol. This circumstance reviving their
former suspicion, they made a diligent search,
and soon afterwards discovered my unfortunate
brother lying extended at the foot of a large
tree, whose spreading branches had so darkened
the spot, that the long grass concealed him, until
the men were close to him. His hat was off, and
lay at some distance from him, and a pistol, un
loaded, lay close beside him. Some faint signs
of life, that appeared on a close examination, in
duced the men to lift him from his cold bed,
and convey him to the nearest public house,
though a fear for their own safety had well-nigh
deterred them from the charitable act, as the mys-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 73

terious circumstances of his death rendered it but
too probable that they might be suspected of
murdering him. Their humanity triumphed over
their fears, and they acted the part of the good
Samaritan. On their entrance in the public house,
the men desired the landlord to examine the dear
youth's pockets, when his purse was found, con
taining a considerable sum of money, and his
watch, which was a gold repeater of great value ;
which proved beyond a doubt that he had not
been robbed.

" From a fear of getting into trouble, the land
lord of the public house where my brother lay,
had summoned the coroner, with the utmost des
patch, and an inquest was held upon the body
before it was cold. At this investigation it had
been decided that the gentleman had been killed
in a duel with some person unknown, as the two
pistols being found at a distance from each other,
proved he Lad not put an end to his own exist
ence, and his property being untouched^ was a
presumptive evidence that he had not fallen by
the hand of a robber. The mournful ceremony
was over before the arrival of Graham, who re
probated their precipitation in the strongest terms,
exclaiming, * Tnat he was sure his dear master was
not dead, but had only fainted through loss of
blood.'

" He had his Lord removed, therefore, as soon
as a litter could be provided, with the tenderest
caution ; but, as I nave already related, disap
pointment was the sad result of all the faithful
crea&ure's endeavours.

" The consequence of this mournful event, was
a serious fit of illness to my father, whose agonised
feelings were too much for his constitution ; he re
proached himself incessantly with his son's death,
believing that his own severity had driven him on
his ruin ; notwithstanding the circumstance of two

•

74 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

pistols being found at a distance from each other,
my father always thought Lord Durham had kil
led himself, although the note found in his pocket
by Graham, but too plainly pointed out the
mournful truth, and left not a shadow of doubt
upon my mind that my brother had been trepan
ned by the vile forgery, into the power of an as
sassin; who that assassin was, has never been dis
covered, though I must own my suspicions rested
on one person only, either as the principal, or at
least the employer. My father sent for me the
day after he took to his bed, and endeavoured
by his tenderness to atone for the harsh manner
in which he had treated me.

" He mentioned his intention of acknowledg
ing Lady Durham and her infant, and sent me to
the place of her concealment, with a kind mes
sage to that purport.

"But alas ! a new sorrow was prepared for me:
the retreat of the unfortunate Emily had been
discovered by her implacable father, who forcibly
conveyed her to one of his own mansions in a dis
tant country. The lovely creature had refused
to part with her child, who was accordingly per
mitted to accompany her in her banishment.

" Mjr father received the news of this fresh act
of cruelty with real concern. He had rested his
hopes of conciliating his uneasy conscience by
shewing to the beloved wife of his lamented son,
the deep penitence he felt for his former cruelty,
and endeavouring to atone for it by every act of
tenderness her forlorn situation required. This
mournful satisfaction was, however, denied him,
and he took on so heavily, that his grief produced
a train of disorders, which soon became fatal.
He survived his son only thirteen months ; dur
ing the whole of that melancholy period, I lived
totally secluded from society. Lady Petersfield
endeavoured in vain to displace me from my fa
ther's, sick-room ; I was tenacious of my post as

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 15

head nurse, and as my services appeared more
agreeable to my unhappy parent than any other
person's, all her manoeuvres were fallacious.

" When her ladyship found I was stationary,
she came less frequently into the apartment, and
soon returned to her gay habits,, without concern
ing herself about the invalid, whom she repre
sented as an hypochondriac, to all her acquain
tance. Indeed her ladyship's spirits appeared
better than ever, after my dear brother's death.
Her favourite point was obtained, her son was now
Lord Durham. She heard of my brother's mar
riage, and that there was a child, but her indefa
tigable genius soon discovered that it was a daugh
ter, and therefore not to be feared. During the
whole time my father lived, I received no letter
from Lady Durham, nor could I gain any access
to her by all the stratagems I could devise; va
rious and tormenting were the reports spread
abroad of that interesting creature.

" Sometimes 1 heard she was in a deep decline;
at others, that she had quite recovered her health
and spirits, and was about to emerge from her re
tirement, and become the ornament of ton. I
dared not to mention these vague rumours to my
father, whose spirits became weaker every day,
and whose remorse was frequently beyond the
control of reason. At length the awful moment
arrived — the agonised frame could no longer sup
port the painful struggle — my poor father died of
a broken heart, in his forty-ninth year, and left
me an isolated being, without one friend to con
sole me. I could not remain with Lady Peters-
field, the sight of her was insupportable; I there
fore removed as soon as 1 decently could to my
Aunt Morrison's, where I remained till I mar
ried Lord Ellincourt, which event took place the
ensuing year.

" The bustle of my marriage obliged me to mix

76 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

more with the world, and by degrees I recovered
a portion of my former spirits, yet still I heard
nothing of my poor Emily that was satisfactory;
she never appeared in public, and I had every
reason to suppose she was a close prisoner in her
father's gloomy mansion in Westmoreland. Se
ven years had elapsed without my obtaining any
light upon the subject, when, one day, taking up
the newspaper, 1 was struck by reading the fol
lowing paragraph: — * On Thursday, died, at her
father's seat, in Westmoreland, Lady Emily
Hinchinbroke, only daughter of the Earl of So-
mertown; her ladyship has been long in a de
clining state.' I was inexpressibly shocked.
* Poor victim of implacable revenge,' said I, * thou
hast then escaped from thy dreary prison! But
what alas! is become of thy offspring?' The air of
disclaiming her husband's title, in announcing
Lady Durham's death, seemed to indicate that
her child was no more.

" Eight years more elapsed before I was con
vinced this idea was erroneous; I then received
the following words, written in a beautiful small-
hand : —

" Dear Aunt,

" 1 have been taught to love you by the best
of mothers, and I do love you with all my heart,
though I have never been so happy as to see you.
My grandfather is gone to Ireland on some busi
ness, and my kind governess has promised to take
me to your house, if you will condescend to re
ceive your dutiful and affectionate niece,

EMILY TRENTHAM/'

" I could not doubt that this letter came from
my brother's child, and I was delighted beyond
measure with the sweet idea of folding her to my
bosom. My answer may be guessed, and the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 77

next day the sweet angel was introduced to me.
I will not pretend to describe what I felt when I
beheld the most striking likeness of my injured
Seymour, in the soft features of his lovely daugh
ter. A more perfect beauty I never saw, nor a
female so devoid of vanity. She seemed the very
soul of affection, and capable of interesting the
sternest heart in her favour. This opinion was
confirmed by her governess, who assured me that
Lady Emily had so won upon her grandfather,
that she believed his lordship loved no other be
ing upon earth but herself. The sweet girl could
stay but a short time with me, but we often re
newed the pleasure we experienced in meeting
during Lord Somertown's absence.

" These visits were, however, suspended at his
return, and a letter now and then, clandestinely
exchanged, was all our consolation, under the
privation. I did not see the dear Emily again
for two years, and then I found her every thing
the fondest heart could wish, in mind and person ;
but there was an air of melancholy about ner that
greatly distressed me, as it appeared unnatural
to her ; she blushed when I questioned her, and
replied that she would some day lay open every
thought of her heart to me ; but at present she
must be excused. Alas ! 1 saw her no more from
that period, for about this time, her cruel grand
father died, and I at first hoped, when I heard
the news, that the lovely girl's emancipation
would follow. In this hope I was fatally mis
taken, his son and successor, the present Lord,
,vas the counterpart of his father, and seemed
to consider his cruelty as much an inheritance
as his estate.

" In his, hands the hapless Emily found another
tyrant, and she was soon afterwards married,
against her inclination, it is generally thought, to
a nobleman, whose name I shall not now mention,

4. i,

78 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

and went over with him to Ireland immediately.
I am astonished she has never written to me since,
although 1 have addressed several letters to her,
supposing that the restraint she formerly suffered,
had now been agreeably changed to liberty. A
murmur which has lately reached me, respecting
her present situation, makes me very unhappy,
but as it has not yet been confirmed, I will pass it
over in silence.

u \ hope, however, that my melancholy story
has sufficiently impressed your mind with the
truth of what I first advanced — That marriages
contrary to the express prohibition of parents, are
generally unhappy, and often fatal."

CHAPTER V.

A Modern Bluebeard.

" WOULD you imagine my stupidity, my dear
mother," said Lord Ellincourt, " I have been lis
tening to your story with the most profound in
terest, because I took it into my wise head, that
the denouement would prove my Fanny to be the
daughter of your hero and heroine. A curious
anachronism, certainly."

" Yes, replied Lady Ellincourt, " the daugh
ter of my unfortunate brother is at least six years
older than you are, and has been married several
years."

" My sapience will be found a little more
profound," said Lord Ellincourt, " in regard to
the name of the nobleman who married that child
of misfortune — I know him well."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 79

"How is that possible?" asked Lady Ellin-
court, " I am sure I never mentioned one of the
personages in this mournful drama to you be
fore. As Lord Somertown never acknowledged
my brother's marriage with his daughter, nor
would ever permit her unfortunate offspring to be
called by his name, 1 have strenuously avoided
adverting to the melancholy story, even in my
own family."

" Your own family have learned some of the
particulars nevertheless," answered Lord Ellin-
court, " as I will shew you. About two months
ago, I received a letter from my sister, which con
tains a long history of the lady you allude to, and
who, by the bye, is wife to the Earl of Ballafyn,
the Bluebeard of Ireland. You shall read Caro
line's letter."

" Pray let me look at it directly," said Lady El-
lincourt, " for the account 1 had was a very im
perfect one, and I did not dare to enquire more
particularly, lest I should revive a tale, which I
wish to be forgotten."

"I never liked Lord Ballafyn," said Lord El-
lincourt, " I have been often in his company,
during his visits to England, though 1 little
thought he was related to me. By Caroline's ac
count, he is a monster in the form of a man, who
not content with rendering an innocent woman
wretched, has now taken the diabolical measure
of blackening her character. I will bring the
letter when I come to-morrow, but I am engaged
this evening, and cannot possibly call again."

" Y7ou are a provoking creature," replied La
dy Ellincourt, " for I shall be upon thorns until
I read Caroline's letter. I wonder she never
mentioned the subject to me."

" She knew that it would revive some disa
greeable remembrances," said Lord Ellincourt,
u and therefore she forbore to touch upon it. You

80 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK)

will see her reasons, when you read her letter ;
for my part 1 did not understand to what event
she alluded, until your melancholy recital ex
plained the enigma. To curtail the endurance
of your suspense, I will enclose my sister's letter
to you, in a cover, as soon as I return home, and
then my dear mother can indulge her curiosity
immediately."

Lord Ellincourt kept his promise, and in a few
hours his mother was in possession of the letter.

It was as follows : —

*>

" My dear Edmund,

" I am truly sorry to hear you do not intend
visiting Ireland this year, as I had made up my
mind to expect you, and my good Lord has posi
tively assured me that he cannot afford to take
me with him, when he goes to England — we shall
not meet, therefore, for many months. I had a
story, so much in the marvellous to entertain you
with, had you kept your word of spending the
Christmas with us, and I had intended to reserve
the surprise for a winter evening's delassement,
but now you must have it in a letter.

" You have frequently mentioned Lord Balla-
fyn's brother, Col. Ross, as one of your inti
mates, and therefore, I dare say you are no stran
ger to his lordship. Whether his beautiful
exterior has the power of prejudicing his own
sex in his favour, I cannot tell, but it has had
but too much success with ours. Some years ago,
this fascinating nobleman married one of the
loveliest women England ever produced, and
brought his bride with him to Ballafyn Castle,
where she was looked up to as a divinity by all the
guests who were admitted to the Castle.

" Lady Ballafyn's carriage was such as the
strictest prudence, joined to the most unaffected
modesty would dictate ; but the melancholy that

Tlili LITTLE MENDICANT. 81

seemed to prey upon her spirits excited the sym
pathy of many, and the curiosity of all. This
was naturally supposed to originate in the treat
ment she received from her husband, who,
although the greatest libertine that ever entered

^5 f^

the pale of matrimony, took it into his wise head
to be jealous of her, and led her a life suitable
to his liberal ideas of female chastity.

" All this, Lady Ballafyn bore with unrepining
patience, and finding that her unreasonable Lord
appeared displeased with the admiration she ex
cited, the charming Emily declined going into
public as much as she possibly could.

" Lord Ballafyn permitted his wife to return to
England for her lying-in, and she passed several
months in her native country after that event ;
during which period the child died, and the poor
lady returned to Ireland, in a state of mind bor
dering on melancholy, and never afterwards
mixed with any company whatever. - Lord Bal-
lafyn's visiters now consisted of gentlemen only ;
and Lady Ballafyn, either by her own choice, or
his cruelty, inhabited an obscure corner of the
Castle, where her very existence was nearly for
gotten.

" It is said that she has visited England once,
during one of her Lord's absences, unknown to
him, and that a discovery which he lately made
of that transaction, has been the cause of the
cruelty _with which she has been treated within
these few months. Such unheard of barbarities,
were, I believe, never before practised, unless by
his namesake, 13luebeard, which title has been
bestowed upon his lordship for his savage con
duct, by all the ladies in the neighbourhood.

" My maid assures me that the poor lady has
been shut up for days together without provisions,
and that the monster has more than once lifted
his ugly paw against her, and even dragged her

82 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

by the hair of her head from one apartment to
another. No person is suffered to have access to
her, nor can any letter reach her hand, as she is
surrounded by his creatures, and never left one
moment to herself.

" A few months ago a young man of noble mien,
and with the most beautiful countenance in the
world, was seen creeping about the purlieus of
the Castle, and endeavouring to penetrate within
its ponderous walls ; his attempts were however,
fruitless, and at last he applied himself to one of
the servants, whom he endeavoured to interest
in his cause, by a bribe, that showed however
mean his apparel might be, that he was not in
indigent circumstances.

" The servant pocketed the bribe, and like
many of his betters, who do the same without the
least intention of earning what he had accepted,
listened to all the stranger had to say, and pro
mised to obtain for him what he wished, namely —
an interview with Lady Ballafyn. The hour of
midnight was appointed for the meeting, and the
unwary youth, trusting to his deceitful betrayer,
was led into the presence of the exasperated Lord ;
who, after loading him with every epithet of
abuse, assured him that the only means of saving
his life, was by making a full confession of his
own and Lady Ballafyn's guilt. The youth lis
tened to the base proposal with silent contempt,
and when forced by his persecutors to answer the
charge, he persisted in asserting the innocence of
the traduced lady, and declared that she knew
not of his coming, and therefore could not be
culpable, if he was.

" He refused to answer any farther questions;
treating the threats of his persecutors with ineff
able disdain. * To dicj said the gallant youth,
6 is no such mighty hardship, but to betray a trust
is impossible to a man who thinks as / do.v He

THE LITTLE MENDIIMNT. 83

was kept several days prisoner at the Castle, in
order to extort some confession from him, but
when Lord Ballafyn found him impervious to all
his stratagems, he employed some of his myrmi
dons to get rid of him in a way that has not yet
been properly ascertained. Some reports say that

the stranger has been sent to T Gaol to take

his trial the next assizes, as a housebreaker.
Others, that he has been smuggled on board a

transport lying at Y at the time, that

was bound for the West Indies, whither he was
sent as a recruit in a regiment going in that ship
thither ; the captain of which is a creature of Lord
Ballafyn's. But my maid, who always deals in the
marvellous as well as the horrific, assures me that
he was thrown down the black rock that hangs
over the sea, a little distance from Ballafyn Cas
tle, and that his ghost has been seen every moon
light night since, standing on the crag of the
rock, and pointing to the restless surges beneath.

" The people pretend that this interesting
stranger resembled Lady Ballafyn so strikingly,
that he might have been supposed to be herself
in man's attire.

" It is impossible to hear stories like these with
indifference ; I confess, therefore, that 1 have
been deeply interested by this tale, particularly
so, as I understand the unfortunate lady is a near
relation of ours. I don't know whether you ever
heard of an ill-fated, marriage in our family, that
caused my poor grandfather's death. My mother
could tell you the sad history more perfectly than
I can, but I would not have you ask it, unless she
leads to it herself, for I have heard that the sad
consequences of that fatal union nearly overset
her reason during the first shock she sustained.

" Lady Ballafyn is the offspring of that marriage,
and seems to inherit the misfortunes of her parents.
But to return to my own ideas on the subject

FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

My imagination, which you know, my dear bro
ther, is tolerably fertile, has formed half a score
of romances out of the materials I have been able
to collect, the most probable of which appears to
me to resemble the pathetic tale of 'Owen of Car-
ron ; or, the tragedy of Douglas,' The stranger
must be a son of Lady Ballafyn's, by a former
marriage, and having just found out who is his
parent, he has experienced the fate of the artless
Owen, or the more magnanimous Douglas. And
my maid says that the stranger appeared too old
to be the son of Lady B. and if that be true, he
must be her lover, and her Lord is not quite so cul
pable as we think him. And yet the said Lady
Ballafyn did not expect him, nor know any thing
of his coming. He might therefore be a lover,
though not a favoured one; and yet why did he
not come before, if he meant to come at all ; and
if Lady B. did not know of his- coming, how could
he expect she would receive him, or, what end
could he hope to have answered by so dangerous
a step? In short, I am lost in a labyrinth of con
jecture, and I heartily wish you were here, Ed
mund, to aid my search for the clue that must
lead me out of it.

" I think it would have been a delightful feat
of knight errantry, for you to have delivered the
fair lady from the claws of her persecutor, which
you might have done in the character of her
nearest relation. Your intimacy with Gol. Ross
would have gained access to the Castle for you,
and your own ingenuity must have accomplished
all the rest. You see what a charming plan I
had laid out for your winter's campaign, but your
obstinate attachment to your own country spoils
every thing. One thing I forgot, which is a ma
terial part of my story — Lord Ballafyn has pub
licly reported that his lady has been guilty of
infidelity, and that, for that reason, he chooses to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 85

immure her in solitary confinement ; he pretends
that he has detected the crime he alleges against
her, asserting that he has several letters m his
possession that are irrefragable proofs of her de
linquency.

" One of his lordship's friends ventured to ask
him why he did not sue for a divorce, from a
woman, who reflected such dishonour upon his
name. But he replied, that he knew tnat was
what Lady Ballafyn wished, and therefore he was
determined to disappoint her. This is his osten
sible reason, but depend upon it the real one ori
ginates in his own evil conscience. How could a
man demand justice upon his wife for a breach of
faith who has a mistress in every place he inha
bits? He keeps a very expensive lady in Dublin;
another in England; and there is one who was his
favourite before he married, who resides within
the precincts of his own demesne, and this wo
man, it is, they say, who instigates his cruelty to
his suffering Lady. What think you of our mo
dern Bluebeard?"

When Lady Ellincourt had perused her daugh
ter's letter, she felt the most poignant affliction.

Some faint rumours had reached her that Lord
Ballafyn had suspected his Lady's fidelity, but as
no steps were taken to obtain a divorce, Lady El
lincourt gave no credit to them. The miserable
truth was now but too evident ; her niece was in
the hands of a cruel and abandoned libertine, and
her character, and perhaps her life, would be sa
crificed to gratify the malice and revenge of his
depraved mistress. The sweet creature appeared
destitute of friends to espouse her cause, and
therefore wholly at the villain's mercy !

" Oh ! my brother," exclaimed Lady Ellin-
court, clasping her hands in agony, " my beloved
brother, the sufferings of thy innocent offspring

4. M

86 F.ATHEULBSS FAN^Y ; OR,

awaken in fny mind the sad remembrance of thy
cruel death. The wounds of my heart are torn
open, and bleed afresh, and I am still the same
powerless creature, as when weeping thy misfor
tunes, I can only lament ; to remedy is not with
in the compass of my power !"

CHAPTER VI.

Correspondence.

WHEN the first emotions of Lady Ellincourt's
sorrow had subsided, she sat down to write to
her daughter. Her letter contained a gentle re
primand for not immediately informing her of
the mournful situation of her beloved niece, and
requested her never to spare her feelings, in fu
ture, at the expence of her humanity. " I know,"
added she, " that I am a poor powerless creature,
as to any thing I can do, but my mind suggests
a measure which may, perhaps, be adverted to
with success.

" Cannot you, my dear Caroline, find some ge
nerously disinterested person who could be per
suaded to write to lord Somertown, and state the
actual situation of his niece. I have been told
he is very fond of her, and I think if he knew
how she is treated, he would find some means to
redress her wrongs.

" The notice must not come from our family, or
how readily would I fly to acquaint him with her
peril ; for my anxiety for my poor Emily, would
supersede every feeling of resentment in my bo
som, and force me to act in concert with my bitter-

THi: LIT T Li: MKNDlfANT. 87

yst eiiemy. so that her welfare appeared likely to
result from such a coalition. 1 understand that
Lord Somertown resides constantly now at his
seat in Yorkshire, a prey to the most profound
melancholy. I fear there is but too much cause
for such a disposition. Reflection to a mind like
his, must be exquisite torture. Surely he will be
glad of something to rouse him from the torpor
of despair, and force him to exert all the energy
he possesses in behalf of his suffering niece."
In answer to this letter, Lady Ellincourt re
ceived the following from her daughter: —

•

" The object of your solicitude, my dearest
mother, is no longer an inhabitant of this cruel
world ; Lady Ballafyn had been dead a fortnight
when your letter reached me. I wonder you have
not seen it announced in the English papers.

" Innumerable reports are spread about here,
concerning this event. Many people assert that
her ladyship met an untimely death by poison,
administered to her by her cruel Lord. Of this
number, Mrs. Flyn, my maid, is the most devout
believer, for she has seen people there who have
seen Lady Ballafyn's ghost all in white upon the
crag of the rock, where her lover appeared some
time ago. * And what, my Lady could take her
ladyship's ghost there, you know, if she had come
fairly by her death ?' This is Flyn's creed, and the
whole bench of bishops could not turn her from
it, were they to try.

" Other people assert that Lady B. has made
her escape to England, and that it was only a log
of wood that was so pompously interred a few
days ago, and that my Lord's reason for choosing
to believe her dead, is because he intends marry
ing the woman he has kept so long, and make her
as good as a great many more ladies who wear
coronets, and came by them in the same manner
But for my part I must confess that I am a

88 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

vert to neither opinion ; for I think it extremely
natural, that a person of a delicate frame, like
Lady Ballafyn, should sink under the pressure of
ill-treatment and confinement, particularly as she
had not one sympathizing bosom to whom she
could impart her sorrows — I only wonder she
has lived so long.

" I hope my dear mother's excellent sense will
suggest the best consolation to her The death
of Lady Ballafyn is the emancipation of a wretch
ed slave, and ought-to be hailed with joy instead
of lamentation.

" That she was innocent I don't entertain a
doubt, and in that case, what an exchange is hers!
Sinking as she was beneath accumulated sorrow
and distress, both of body and mind. She is now
translated to the fulness of glory and happiness
for evermore."

" Lady Ellincourt's mind was relieved from
the tortures of suspense and anxiety, by the
mournful news conveyed to her in her daughter's
letter, and her agitated feelings gradually sunk
into the calm of settled melancholy. The last
vestige of her beloved brother was now extinct,
and his name for ever blotted out. The sweet
offspring of that unhappy marriage had termina
ted her youthful career in a manner no less wretch
ed than her parents had done before her; but
she could now suffer no more, and fear subsided
with hope, in the heart of Lady Ellincourt.

Lord Ellincourt beheld, with real concern, the
havoc grief was making on the delicate frame of
his indulgent mother, and he used his utmost en
deavour to divert her melancholy. The society
of the engaging Fanny seemed to promise the
best antidote to the gloom that was creeping
over her. Lord Ellincourt entreated his mother
therefore to take the child from school, and
by making her the constant inmate of the
house, insure to herself the comfort of a conipa-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 89

iwon, whose intrusions on her privacy would be
optional.

Lady Ellincourt approved of the scheme, and
Fanny was installed in her new abode before an
other week had elapsed, to the almost uncontrol-
able joy of the lively girl, who thought she could
never sufficiently express her gratitude to her dear
— dear mamma) as she now styled Lady Ellin-
court, for a favour as delightful as unlocked for.
That Fanny might be no loser by the removal,
Lady Ellincourt determined to engage an accom
plished governess to complete the education of
her darling under her roof.

Miss Bridewell who just at that period was
wishing to get rid of her dear Dawson, recom
mended that Lady as the fittest^ person she knew
to fill up the important station.

Lady Ellincourt approved the measure, and
Mrs. Dawson became the governante of Father
less Fanny, assuming as much importance upon
the occasion, as if she had been appointed to the
tuition of the first princess in the known world.

It is necessary in this place, to mention, that soon
after the Lady Trentham's left school, the amiable
Lady Maria became the wife of the far from ami
able Col. Ross, whose pleasing exterior had be
guiled her of her heart, before she was aware that
she had one; and whose large fortune and high
family rendered him agreeable to the Marquis of
Petersfield as a son-in-law, particularly as there
appeared to be a fair chance of the family title and
estate of Ballafyn centering in that gentleman, as
his brother had been married many years without
having an heir, and the rumours that had reached
the Marquis respecting Lady Ballafyn's supposed
infidelity, rendered it probable his lordship would
never marry again.

During the ensuing five years of Fanny's life,
little occurred to vary the scene. She was the

yO FATHERLESS FANNY; Ott,

cherished companion of her kind benefactress, and
the still undiminished favourite of Lord Ellin-
court, who though he continued his giddy career'
through the mazes of fashion, never abated
aught of his kindness towards his adopted child.

Mrs. Dawson had now completed the educa
tion of her pupil, and the recommendation of
Lady Ellincourt, obtained for that lady a similar
situation in the family of a lady who resided a
part of the year in Ireland.

Mrs. Dawson, it has before been observed, was
of a disposition exactly calculated to make her
way in the world. She well knew how to catch
the whim of the moment, and to humour it with
the most consummate skill.

She was always, therefore, a great favourite
with her employers. Lady Ellincourt, who was
one of the best women in the world, thought Mrs.
Dawson the epitome of perfection, for to her ob
servation she had appeared as pious as she was
accomplished, and in the latter point there was no
deception ; Mrs. Dawson was certainly fully ca
pable of the task she had undertaken, as far as
elegant attainments extended, but poor Fanny
would have imbibed but little of the true spirit
of piety from her governess, had it not been for
the genuine lessons bestowed upon her by her
affectionate friend, Lady Ellincourt ; and the firm
foundation that had been laid by the amiable
Emily Barlowe, during the infant years of the
interesting orphan.

Mrs. Dawson had found the secret, however,
of winning Fanny's affection, whose artless bosom
as incapable of suspicion as of deceit, judged
every body of the pure model of her own heart.
Every secret of her soul had been reposed in
Mrs. Dawson's keeping, and she had not a
thought she wished to conceal from the person
she had so long considered in the light of a se-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 91

cond self. To part with this tenderly beloved
friend, was therefore a most painful trial for the
affectionate girl, and Mrs. Dawson took care the
impression should not be softened by any of the
attentions Lady Ellincourt bestowed upon her
favourite by way of amusing her thoughts, and
diverting them from the object of her regret.

Fanny's grief, which had been continually in
creased by the artful suggestions of Mrs. Daw-
son, appeared beyond the control of reason, when
the final separation took place, and to mitigate
its violence, Lady Ellincourt consented to an ar
rangement which had not her entire approbation,
namely, the establishing of a regular correspon
dence between the pupil and her ci-devant go
verness, when at a distance from each other.

" This was exactly the object Mrs. Dawson had
in view all the time, and the attainment of her
wishes promised to gratify the two ruling pas
sions of her mind, curiosity, and selfish policy.
She well knew that by Fanny's letters she could
obtain the knowledge of every material occur
rence in Lady Ellincourt 's family, and, over and
above the satisfaction of acquiring that know
ledge to her naturally curious mind, she might be
able through her skill in marioeuvering, to turn
some of them to her own advantage. Things
being thus arranged in her own mind, Mrs. Daw-
son took her leave, with every exterior appear
ance of the deepest regret, although her neart
secretly rejoiced at the change, as her salary was
considerably augmented by the event, and she
went away laderf with marks of Lady Ellhcourt's
munificence, besides all the valuable trinkets she
had obtained from the simple Fanny, by " loving'
them for the sake of the " dear — dear wearer"

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

CHAPTER VII.

The Separation.

LORD ELLINCOURT'S attachment to Emily Bar-
lowe, although it had never yielded to any new
attraction, had not been sufficiently strong to in
duce his lordship to follow the amiable girl to
Jamaica, as he had once talked of doing.

At length, however, an incident occurred that
re-united them in the most unexpected manner
possible.

Lady Ellincourt's health had been visibly de
clining for some time, and her physicians, after
trying every remedy this country afforded, re
commended the mild climate of Lisbon as the
dernier resort. Lady Ellincourt received the
fiat with real regret, as she was an enthusiastic
lover of Old England, but the united entreaties
of her son, and the affectionate Fanny, at length
overcame her objection, and she promised to ac
quiesce with the doctor's injunctions, provided
her dear Edmund would accompany her.

This was precisely what her dear Edmund had
always intended to do, and he assured his mother,
that nothing would give him greater pain than to
be denied the pleasure of administering to her
comfort and her safety during her exportation.
And so said her tenderly attached Fanny, when
Lady Ellincourt asked her whether she would
prefer being left at Miss Bridewell's, or Lady
Maria Ross's, during the forced absence of her
maternal friend. "Surely my dear — dear mamma
\vould not be so cruel as to talk of leaving me in

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 93

England, when ill-health obliges her to seek a
distant home. In pity to my agonized feelings,
do not pronounce so hard a sentence upon a heart
which acknowledges no mother but you — which
forms no wish so ardent as that of being able to
shew the gratitude and affection, that glows in it
for you, my kind, my beloved benefactress."

As Fanny pronounced these words she clasped
her arms round Lady Ellincourt's neck, and en
deavoured, with one of her fascinating smiles, to
shake the good lady's resolution. But although
deeply affected by the sweet girl's earnestness in
the cause she was pleading, and fully convinced
of the sincerity of her attachment, Lady Ellin-
court was not to be persuaded by all the rheto
ric poor Fanny was mistress of.

"I have well considered the subject we are
upon, my sweet girl," replied her ladyship, " and
1 feel so thoroughly convinced of the impropriety
of complying with your request, that I cannot
suffer any persuasion to shake my resolution.
You know me, my dear Fanny, and that selfish
considerations have no weight with me; You will
believe me, therefore, when I assure you that I
practise great self-denial in withstanding your
affectionate solicitations, for I can affirm, with
truth, that there is nothing I leave behind I shall
so truly regret as my tender and affectionate little
nurse, Fanny.

" But, my dear girl, life is uncertain, even to
the healthy ; with invalids it seems still more pre
carious; and greatly would it embitter the pangs
of death, could the painful reflection present it
self to my mind that my Fanny was exposed, by
my imprudence, to the trying situation of being
left in a strange country, wimout a proper pro
tector of her own sex to re-conduct her to her
native country."

" But my dear mamma," interrupted Fanny,

No. 5. N

94 I ATHKKLKSS FANNY ; OU,

" will not Lord Ellincourt go with you, and
whose protection could be better than his, should
I, indeed, be deprived of my best friend."

" Edmund would prove a kind friend and a
powerful protector to my girl, I am sure," an
swered Lady Ellincourt; "but so young a man
is not a proper chaperon for her, and that must
be studied my sweet girl. Maternal anxiety such
as mine foresees and provides for every contin
gency. Be reconciled, therefore, my Fanny, to
a determination which cannot be repelled, and
which has been made after mature consideration,
and from the very best motives."

It was in vain that Lady Ellincourt preached
patience and submission to Fanny ; no argument
could convince her that it was right to separate
her from her beloved mamma, and she wept in
cessantly at the fiat she could not alter. When
urged by Lady Ellincourt to decide upon her
choice of residence, during her absence, she
would reply, " It matters not where I go, all
places will be alike to me, when my dear mamma
is taken from me."

At length, however, she was induced, by Lady
Ellincourt's insisting upon an answer, to choose
Lady Maria Ross for her protectress, in prefer
ence to Miss Bridewell. Col. Ross's intimacy
with Lord Ellincourt, and Lady Maria's near re
lationship to the Ellincourt family, had conspired
to render them the most frequent visiters Lady
Ellincourt had; and as Fanny loved Lady Maria
with the truest affection, from the time she first
became acquainted with that lady, at Miss Bride
well's, it was natural she should prefer her pro
tection to the formal jurisd iction of her quondam.
governess. Col. Ross had never been a favourite
of Fanny's, although the uniform kindness and
attention with which he treated her seemed to
demand her gratitude.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 95

Since his marriage, the Colonel had affected to
consider Fanny in the light of a child ; a mode of
behaviour which seemed to increase rather than
diminish with her increasing years and stature.

Lady Ellincourt's allowance for her favourite's
maintenance, was extremely liberal ; and both the
Colonel and Lady Maria appeared pleased with
the arrangement, when they learnt that Fanny
was to become their guest. Not so the affection
ate girl ; no projected plan of pleasure could
rouse her from the sorrow into which Lady Ellin-
court's determination of leaving her behind, had
plunged her, and she was deaf to every thing
Lady Maria could say, by way of consolatory ad
vice upon the subject.

At length the dreaded moment arrived, and
Fanny was torn, more dead than alive from the
arms of her dear Lady Ellincourt, whose heroism
never forsook her, and conveyed in Lady Maria's
coach to that lady's house. Lady Ellincourt had
wisely insisted that the parting should take place
the day before her departure, as she judged her
self unequal to the task of bidding her darling
farewell, when about to encounter the fatigues
and bustle of a journey, which in her weak state
appeared already but too formidable.

Lord Ellincourt, notwithstanding the levity
natural to him, possessed an excellent heart,
and the tender attachment of the artless Fanny
deeply afflicted it. When he pressed her in his
arms, and kissed off the tears that rolled down
her blooming cheeks, he thought it was impossi
ble he should ever love any human being as he
at that moment loved Fanny.
. " Dear girl," said his lordship, how shall T bear
to live apart from you. The sight of you is become
necessary to my happiness, nay, almost to my ex
istence, and I verily believe I shall soon find that
T cannot do without you."

96 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Col. Boss was present when Lord Ellincourt
thus expressed himself, and the heightened co
lour of his cheek, and the stern expression of his
eye, too plainly told to the observing Lady Maria,
that her husband was not pleased. Of the cause
from whence his displeasure sprung, she was ig
norant, but she had already learnt to watch the
variation of his countenance, with the trembling
anxiety of a dependant vassal.

Lord Ellincourt was too deeply absorbed in his
own feelings to observe his friend, or he might
have been tempted to join his solicitations to Fan
ny's, to persuade Lady Ellincourt to revoke her
decree, and even at that late moment to suffer her
disconsolate favourite to accompany her.

" Oh ! that I were so dear to you as you say,"
exclaimed the artless Fanny. " Oh ! that it were
true, indeed, that you could not exist without
seeing me. Lady Ellincourt would not then re
fuse to take me with her, she would compassion
ate the feelings of her son, although she has no
pity for mine." Unconscious of the full force of
what she said, Fanny clasped her hands together
with an expression of tender anguish, whilst tears
poured in abundance from her eyes, which were
raised as in supplication, to watch the countenance
of her dear mamma, still cherishing the hope that
she might relent.

Such a thing was, however, farther than ever
from Lady Ellincourt's thoughts, as a suspicion
that moment crossed her imagination, that ren
dered her dreaded journey a most fortunate cir
cumstance in her estimation. Fanny's beauty had
been an object so familiar to her eye, that its pro
gressive improvement had not awakened any
fears on Lord Ellincourt's account, until that mo
ment, but her eyes appeared to be suddenly
opened, and the energy with which he had just
expressed himself, joined to Fanny's artless wish

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 97

of the realization of his love for her, seemed to
strike conviction on her mind. " They love each
other," said she, mentally, " and my imprudence
has undone them both, unless this fortunate sepa
ration should wean them from each other."

Dear as Lady Ellincourt loved Fanny, and ten
derly alive as she was to the happiness of her son,
yet such was the effect of hereditary pride upon
her mind, that the idea of uniting her son to a
person of obscure birth, was worse to her imagi
nation, than even the prospect of his being' mi
serable for life.

CHAPTER VIII.

A Wedding. f

UNDER such impressions, the result may be an
ticipated. Lady Ellincourt remained firm, and
Fanny inconsolable. The latter was conveyed,
in a state of mind, bordering on despair, to the
house of Col. Ross, where the tenderest attentions
were lavished upon her by the amiable Lady Ma
ria, and every scheme of pleasure devised likely
to dissipate her melancholy. In the mean time,
Lady Ellincourt pursued her journey, accom
panied by her son, on every turn of whose coun
tenance she dwelt with unceasing anxiety, and
endeavoured to trace in his mfautest actions, and
most unguarded expressions, the fatal effects of
the passion she imagined he had imbibed from
the too lovely object of both their affections.

What pleasure did it give this anxious mother
then, when the amount of all her scrutiny, proved
the supposition an error, and convinced her be-

98 FATHEULK&S FANNY; OK,

yond the possibility of a doubt, that slie was mis
taken in her conjecture, at least as far as related
to her son. In regard to poor Fanny, she did not
feel the same assurance ; the excess of her grief
—the artless manner in which she had expressed
it — and her wish, so fervently uttered, that she
were, indeed, necessary to Lord Ellincourt's hap
piness, continually recurred to Lady Ellincourt's
mind, and filled it with sadness ; for so dear was
Fanny to her maternal heart, that the idea of her
being doomed to suffer under the influence of a
hopeless passion, gave the most poignant feelings
of anguish to her bosom.

^

Arrived at Lisbon, Lady Ellincourt soon found
benefit from its salubrious atmosphere, and her
son had the satisfaction of seeing his mother's
health improving hourly.

A few weeks after their arrival, they were
agreeably surprised, one morning, by a visit from
Mr. Barlowe, who informed Lord and Lady El
lincourt that he and his whole family were come
to reside some months, perhaps years, at Lisbon ;
as their stay depended upon the life of an infirm
relation, who was immensely rich, and who in
tended to make Mr. Barlowe her heir, had en
treated him to come and reside near her, during
the little time that she had to stay in this world ;
and that in order to comply with that request, he
had brought his whole family with him, intending
to go to England, after the death of his relation,
and fix his abode there, as his estate in Jamaica
bad been disposed of, previous to his quitting
that Island. The evident pleasure with which
Lord Ellincourt listened to this recital, delighted
his mother, as she saw plainly in his eager, but
confused enquiries after Emily Barlowe, that the
interest that sweet girl had excited in her son's
bosom, was still undiminished in fervour.

It gave her still greater satisfaction, when she

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 99

learned, by a seemingly careless enquiry, that
Emily was "disengaged, or at least that no positive
plan of a matrimonial nature had yet occupied
her father in that respect to her.

The eldest daughter was on the point of mar
riage, with a young West Indian, of immense
fortune, whose attachment to her was sufficiently
potent to induce him to follow her to Lisbon ;
whither curiosity, or, perhaps coquetry had led
her, in spite of her lover's entreaties, and her fa
ther's remonstrances, who had intended to wit
ness her nuptials before he left Jamaica.

The haughty Caroline, however, chose to enjoy
the triumph of leading her captive from one quar
ter of the globe to the other, and her vanity was
not a little inflated, when she found her influence
strong enough to accomplish her wishes. The
gallantry of this ardent lover devised a thousand
fetes, for the gratification of his beloved mistress,
and on these occasions Lord Ellincourt was sure
to make one of the party, and by his attentions to
Emily, to prove that she too had a lover no less
ardent than her sister's.

To talk about Fanny, their mutual favourite,
was, at first, their excuse for being so often seated
near each other, but by degrees another topic,
more agreeable to both, was substituted in the
place of Fanny, and the result was an application
to Mr. Barlowe, for his permission to address his
daughter, and as no reasonable objection could
be started to the alliance, it was soon agreed to on
both sides.

Lady Ellincourt had now the happiness of
seeing her son united to the lady she most ap
proved of, and safe from the witchery of the fas
cinating Fanny. Yet still the good lady heaved
a sigh now and then for the poor girl, lest her
youthful heart should have been touched by the
influence she had dreaded for her son. The let-

100 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

ters which her ladyship received from her favour
ite, did^ not, however, give any reason to suppose
her so affected., for when she replied to the one
in which Lady Ellincourt had spoken of her son's
intended union with Emily Barlowe, Fanny thus
expressed herself —

"Thank you, dearest, dear mamma, for your
charming news. Oh! what a happy girl will
your Fanny be, when she sees her dear papa and
her dear Emily together, and thinks that they
will never more be parted, and that she shall al-
Avays live with them, and love them, and see them
every day !"

These expressions certainly had not the appear
ance of a hopeless attachment ; yet still Lady
Ellincourt had taken the idea so strongly in her
head, that like most old ladies when they form
an opinion, she did not like to give it up, and ac
knowledge herself in an error, even to herself.

CHAPTER IX.

A Female Rattle !

IN the mean time, Fanny, "who never dreamt
of love," was passing her time in the full enjoy
ment of innocent delight. The spirits at sixteen
are very elastic, and her sorrow at the loss of her
dear Lady Ell incourt's society, soon gave way to
the kind attentions of the affectionate Lady Ma
ria, who spared no pains in the friendly task of
amusing her dear Fanny.

Col. Ross was no less attentive, no less kind
to the happy girl, but far less successful in his

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, lOl

efforts to please. It was not that Fanny felt un
grateful for his kindness,but thatshe experienced
sensations of repugnance, she could not account
for, whenever he addressed himself to her, par
ticularly when they happened to be alone ; for
then there was a fervour in his manner, a look in
his eyes, as disagreeable as it was new to her ; and
which, though it roused her resentment, she dar
ed not to complain of, as she knew not why she
felt offended, although the emotions of anger was
irresistible.

Col. Ross had penetration enough to see that
he was no favourite with Fanny, and this he at
tributed to a prepossession in favour of Lord Ellin-
court, rather than any deficiency in bis own powers
of pleasing : and the same vanity suggested the
probability of gaining upon the unsuspecting
heart of his intended victim, and supplanting the
image of Lord Ellincourt, which he supposed was
cherished there, with all the fervour of a first love.
Amongst the friends to whom Fanny was now in
troduced by her new protectors, was a young lady
of immense fortune, of the name of Stanhope, who
was like most other heiresses, a spoiled girl in the
fullest sense of the word.

Accustomed from her infancy to have her will,
the law of all about her, she had reached the age
of eighteen, without having been once contra
dicted. Miss Stanhope was therefore the epitome
of caprice and fashionable folly. Yet was she na
turally of a generous disposition, and perfectly
good tempered. This young lady had hitherto re
sided with her grandmother, whose doating affec
tion had been the cause of her follies.

This lady was lately dead, and the care of Miss
Stanhope's person and fortune had devolved upon
the Marquis of Petersfield, whose ward she was,
and at whose house she was to reside, until her

5. o

102 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

marriage, which was expected to take place in a
few months.

This alliance had been projected by the parents
of the young people, during their infancy, and was
considered as a most advantageous union of pro
perty for both parties. The young nobleman in
tended for Miss Stanhope's husband wastheDuke
of Albemarle, who was about four years older
than herself, and also an orphan, and only child.

The young Duke had been abroad some years,
on account of the delicate state of his health, for
which the climate of Sicily had been recommended
by his physicians. He was now on the point of
returning to his native country, in order to fulfil
his father's will, by marrying Miss Stanhope.

Lady Ellincourt had been absent several months
at the time of Fanny's introduction to Miss Stan
hope, and it was declared absolutely necessary for
the perfect re-establishment of her health, that
her ladyship should remain in Portugal some
months longer, a circumstance which gave the ut
most alarm to poor Fanny, whose terrified imagi
nation was continually presenting to her the dan
gers of her benefactress's protracted stay, in a
country so formidably threatened by the rapaci-
> ous invader. Miss Stanhope laughed at her fears.
" My dear girl," said that wild young lady, "I per
ceive you are as fond of Lady Ellincourt, as I was
of my poor grand-mamma ; and if you live with
her much longer you will be just such a fool as /
am; so I think it will be an excellent thing if the
French should run away with her, and not let
her come home any more."

" Lady Ellincourt is certainly very indulgent to
'me," replied Fanny, "but she never spoiled me."

" There's a conceited puss," interrupted Miss
Stanhope, " she wishes people to think that she
can bear indulgence better than I can, and that

THE LITTLE .MENDICANT. 103

all the old women in the world cannot spoil her.
Well child," added she, laughing, " since you are
indulgence proof, by your own confession, you
must promise to spend the honey moon with the
poor Duke and me, when we are married, for we
shall be vapoured to death, depend upon it, until
we get used to each other's ways."

" You seem to have formed a strange idea of
conjugal felicity, Miss Stanhope," replied Fanny,
" to talk of being vapoured to death in the soci
ety of your husband, so soon after your marriage."

"Formal creature!" rejoined the mad-cap,
"I'll venture to lay a wager, when thou art mar-
.ried,thou wilt trot about, arm-in-arm, with thy
lord and master, like Darby and Joan, and talk
about the supreme felicity of unlimited confi
dence and congenial, spirits"

" I hope," said Fanny, smiling, " if ever I do
marry, 1 shall be able to realize your charming
picture, or else I would rather live single."

" Live single, my dear !" interrupted Miss
Stanhope, " why that is the extent of human
felicity in my ideas of happiness. I would give
half my fortune this minute to be allowed to live
single ; at least until I could find somebody ami
able enough to make me change my mind."

"Is not the Duke amiable ?" asked Fanny.

" I really cannot tell," replied Miss Stanhope,
" I have never seen him since he was an Eaton
boy, and then the animal was well enough to look
at, but I always hated him because I knew I
should be obliged to marry him."

" But who can oblige you to marry his Grace,"
said Fanny, " against your inclination ? You
have no parents alive, and surely your guardian's
power cannot extend to such violence."

" You are a little simpleton," answered Miss
Stanhope, " and know nothing about the world,
or its ways, I can see that, so I must teach you. It

104 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

is but too often seen that frail mortals are apt to
repine at the unequal distribution of the good
things of this life. This is a most silly calcula
tion, the possessions of the wealthy have always
their concomitant miseries, supplied either by the
pride, avarice, or ambition of their relatives. The
wise junto of fathers, mothers, uncles, and aunts,
that made up this wise match for the poor Duke
of Albemarle and me, took infinite pains to strike
the balance between those that envied his title
and my riches, and the then unconscious posses
sors of the baubles, by dooming us both to be
tied together, whether we liked it or not. Which
soever refuses to fulfil the compact, forfeits the
bulk of their fortune to the other, and is to suffer
the punishment of poverty and repentance all
the remainder of their life, for the delinquency.
Now, though I would give half my fortune to be
off the wedding, I should not like to lose the
whole, and therefore I must submit to be noosed.
The Duke I dare say is of the same mind, but I
suppose, though he might prefer my fortune
without myself, to the taking it with all the in-
cumbrances ; yet he would not like to give me
his largest estate, to be off the bargain. Thus
you see are two people going to be tied together to
please their dead papas and mammas, who wish
them at the Antipodes."

Whilst Fanny listened to Miss Stanhope's wild
description of her embarrassing situation, thesmile
of gaiety forsook her lip, and tears trembled in her
eyes. " Merciful heavens !" thought she, how
inscrutable are thy ways ! The rich heiress of in
calculable wealth is an object of pity, to the pen-
nyless orphan, whose daily maintenance depends
upon the bounty of a stranger!"

" Moralizing, I wager, said Miss Stanhope,
looking earnestly in Fanny's face, " yes, yes, I
see it in that twinkling eye, and care fraught brow.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 105

I dare say, my little nun would renounce the
pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and run
into a cloister, or any where, rather than marry
a man she did not like. Oh ! I can see a very
eloquent exordium ready to escape the ruby boun
daries of that pretty little mouth, which, I dare
say, would be very edifying to any little miss or
master, that would twirl their thumbs, and listen
to it ; but keep it in, my dear, for it will be lost
upon me. I can neither moralize nor sermonize,
nor listen to those who do ! I am a predestinarian ;
what must be, will be ; so if I am to have the
Duke, I shall have him, and if I am not to have
him, some Giant, or Genii, or young Lochinvar,
will come just in time to carry me off at the last
moment, and then you shall write me word whe
ther the bridegroom behaved like the poor fool
in Marmion, or whether he took another wife, as
he ought to do."

" Oh J will have nothing to do with your wed
ding," replied Fanny, " nor your bride-groom
either, for you talk so shockingly upon the sub
ject, that you frighten me, I assure you."

" Did you never hear, my dear, said Miss Stan
hope, " of boys making a great noise to drown
their own fears, when obliged to go through a
church-yard, at night. Such is my case at this
moment ; I rove and talk nonsense to banish un
pleasant thoughts that crowd upon me ; were I
to suffer my spirits to flag, I should find it im
possible to raise them again, so

" Away with melancholy !"

and the lively girl left the room singing that po
pular air, with no small portion of Catalani's
sweetness and vivacity.

Fanny's artless sweetness, and the gaiety result
ing from innocence, that so particularly character
ised her, rendered her a great favourite with Miss

• c?

106 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Stanhope. Her vivacity was congenial to her
own, but far more equal in its tenor. Unac
customed to control, the slightest contradiction,
the most trifling disappointment, had the power
to discompose Amelia Stanhope, and put her into
the " jpoti/s," as she herself styled her fits of ill-
humour ; and whenever the demon of ill-temper
spread his malign influence, Fanny was the only
person who could effectually dispel the cloud
that obscured her countenance, and restore the
capricious girl to her smiles again. Miss Stan
hope became therefore the inseparable companion
of Fanny, and as Lady Maria Ross positively re
fused to let her charge become a guest at the
Marquis of Petersfield's, as Miss Stanhope was
continually teazing her to be, that young lady
passed nearly the whole of her time with her new
friend, at Lady Maria's house in Grosvenor
Street.

Miss Stanhope was very fond of riding on
horseback, and so eager was she for her favour
ite to partake of the amusement, that she pre
sented her with one of the most beautiful horses
that she could purchase, at which Fanny was not
a little delighted, as she was as partial to the
exercise, as her lively friend, and had learned to
be a tolerably expert horse-woman, during her
summer visits to Ellincourt's country seat.

Miss Stanhope had a carriage appropriated
for her own use, and this conveyed the young
friends out of town, where the horses, attended
by two grooms, in Miss Stanhope's livery, waited
their pleasure.

These rides formed the most delightful part of
Fanny's life, for she was far from having any pre-
deliction in favour of nocturnal amusements ; and
although Miss Stanhope insisted upon her ac
companying her wherever she could go, yet she
would often have preferred the quiet retirement

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 107

of her own chamber to the brilliant ball-room,
thronged opera, or motley masquerade.

Some of Lady Maria Ross's friends made a point
of inviting Fanny to their entertainments, parti
cularly when they perceived what a great favour
ite she was with the rich and celebrated Miss
Stanhope, but a great number declined showing
her that favour, from the aristocratical fear of
making acquaintance with some obscure person
whom nobody knew.

Fanny's story, as far as Lady Ellincourt was
acquainted with it, was generally known, as the
hope of tracing Fanny's family, by detailing her
adventures, had induced that good lady to talk
more of them than she would otherwise have done.
Her ladyship had strictly adhered to the request
made in the letter addressed to Miss Bridewell
by the person who put Fanny under that lady's
care, namely — not to add any name to the simple
appellation of Fanny, by which only she had hi
therto been distinguished.

These precautions, without having the desired
effect, had exposed the sweet girl to the male
volent remarks of the envious and the unfeeling,
and often had she experienced the mortification
of hearing the enquiry of a stranger, respecting
her name answered by some ill-natured insinua
tion, from. those whose envy had been excited by
the eulogium that preceded the question.

One evening, in particular, a gentleman, whose
attention had been long fixed upon Fanny, asked
a lady who was sitting next him, if she could in
form him who that beautiful girl was, " I never
beheld such a lovely creature," added he, in a
tone of rapturous admiration.

" The girl is a perfect mystery," replied the
ill-natured fair one, " I don't believe any body
knows who she is, unless, indeed, it is the Ellin-
court's. Some people suppose she is Lord El-

108 FATHERLESS FANN-Y ; OR,

lincourt's daughter, but for my part I think it
much more likely she is his mistress, and I am
astonished that any body will admit such an un
accountable person to their parties. She has no
name but that of Fanny, and she is generally
called by way of distinction, Fanny nameless!
But I think it is past a joke to be obliged to sit
in the same room with a person of such doubtful
origin, and indeed, for what we can tell, of such
doubtful character"

" I do not wonder," answered the gentleman,
drily, " that any lady should object to sitting in
the same room with that lovely creature, who is
not proof against the envy natural to her sex; for,
however dubious her origin may be, her claims
to admiration are undoubted, and that is what
few women will excuse in her."

Fanny had heard all that passed, for she was
placed so near, it was impossible to avoid it; and
her confusion may be imagined. When she was
talking to Miss Stanhope, the next day, she men
tioned the distress she had suffered, adding, "that
she preferred staying at home to the being ex
posed to such cruel remarks."

" My dear creature," replied Miss Stanhope,
" all this arises from that fiddle faddle Lady El-
lincourt permitting your story to be exposed, and
persisting in calling you by the name of Fanny
only. Tell me candidly is not such a proceeding
calculated to raise the curiosity of the quietest
creatures in the world, and to set the giant obser
vation staring at you, wherever you go? Now, if
Lady Ellincourt with her old fashioned ideas, as
stiff and as formal as Queen Elizabeth's ruff,
chuses to behave so ridiculously, surely Lady
Maria Ross might have had more sense ; she
might have given you some fine sounding sur
name, and trumped up a probable story about
you, that would have quieted all the he and she

THE LITTLL MENDICANT. 109

gossips that visit her, and then everything would
have gone on smoothly ; but never mind, 1 have
a scheme in my head, and will put it in execution
the first opportunity, and, depend upon it, it will
answer."

" What is that, dear Amelia ?" said Fanny,
anxiously.

" Oh ! never mind," replied Miss Stanhope,
" you shall know nothing about it, until my plot
is ripe. The beauty of a novel consists in well-
managed surprises, and I am determined mine
shall be a first rate performance. Do you know
Lord Somertown ?"

" No," replied Fanny, " I have heard his lord
ship's name, but I never saw him."

" Oh ! then you have a great pleasure to
come," said Miss Stanhope, " he is the greatest
quiz in nature, and I hate him abominably. He
is the Duke of Albemarle's uncle and guardian ;
there is nothing in the world would please me so
well as to see the wretch stand in the pillory, but
I am afraid I shall never attain to such a good for
tune. However if I can but succeed in plaguing
him, I declare I shall be the happiest girl in
Christendom."

" I hope if you are going to play any tricks
with Lord Somertown," said Fanny, looking
grave, " that my dear Amelia, you will not bring
me into the scrape, for you know, what would be
tolerated in you would be deemed unpardonable
in me."

" Oh! don't frighten yourself," replied Miss
Stanhope, " you shall have no hand in the plot,
though the heroine of the piece.'5

" How the heroine ? dear Amelia, you frighten
me," said Fanny, looking alarmed.

" Nay, never look so terrified," replied her
lively friend, u I don't intend you to marry Lord
Somertown, although that would be an excellei

5. p

110 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

method of plaguing him, if you had my spirit. I
would be bound to break his heart in three
months ; but you are too gentle, and too good for
such a task, so I don't think of that scheme.

" No, no, he must be tormented, and I think I
know how. They say he broke his niece's heart
by his cruel usage, and if I can find the way to
his, I will remunerate him as he deserves.

" I dare say there is not a spot bigger than half
a split pea, in his whole heart, that is vulnerable
to the sense of feeling, and my skill must be ex
erted to find it out, and transfix it with the shaft
of remorse."

" Do what you please to Lord Somertown"
said Fanny, " but for Heaven's sake spare me, for
I feel the most unaccountable dread of being im
plicated in the hoax, be it what it may ?"

" You are a silly child, answered Miss Stan
hope, laughing, " and your unaccountable dreads
must not spoil the getting up of my play."

<f Don't make it a Tragedy" said Fanny, em
phatically,

" No, my dear, it is to be a Melo-Drame,
suited to the taste of the times — something be
tween an Opera and a Puppet-Show, with a
great deal of Pantomimic gestures, Operatic
JPathos, and fashionable want of Common
Sense."

CHAPTER X.

An Adventure.

FANNV had always been accustomed to early
rising from her infancy, and therefore, unless she

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. Ill

went to bed very late indeed, she always in fine
weather, took a walk before breakfast.

As Lady Maria Ross was a dormouse, she knew
nothing of this indulgence, or she certainly would
not have suffered a girl of such extraordinary
beauty as Fanny, to go strolling in the Park of a
morning, accompanied only by her maid, who was
very little older than herself, and far less fit to be
trusted. The Grove in the Deer Park, was Fan
ny's favorite stroll, and one beautiful morning,
in May, having taken a longer round than usual,
she determined to rest herself beneath the shade
of one of the largest trees, in that beautiful spot.

Her maid, Betty, had seated herself near her
mistress, on the grass, and was expatiating, in her
simple dialect, on the preference that ought to be
given to a walk, such as they had had, to the un
wholesome custom of lying in bed, in a close
room, until " the sun was ready to burn their
noses" to use an expression of her own.

" Well the ladies may want to wear such a
heap of red powder on their cheeks, Miss Fan
ny," continued the girl, " for sure enough they
stew themselves so, they must be, for all the
world, like a boiled turnip, until they have daub
ed themselves over with paint ! Well, Miss, you
take the right method to look ruddy and whole
some, and that's what makes people call you so
deadly pretty. Yes, and look there stands a gen
tleman as thinks so, I am sure, for he looks for all
the world as if he was planet struck, as my grand
mother used to call it. Do dear Miss Fanny, just
look at him, it will do your heart good to see
what a fool he looks like.

"Fanny turned mechanically to look at the ob
ject Betty had pointed out to her. At a little
distance from the spot where she was sitting, she
beheld a tall gentleman habited in black, of the
most elegant form, whose countenance wore the

112 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

interesting cast of settled melancholy. His large
dark eyes were fixed upon Fanny, with a look of
enquiry in which sorrow seemed blended with cu
riosity. So absorbed too was he in the contem
plation, that he attempted not to withdraw his
eyes, when Fanny turned to observe him. Con
fused at the scrutinizing glances of the stranger,
Fanny arose to depart, without making any an
swer to Betty's animadversions.

" There Miss," said the girl, in a discontented
tone, " now you must go and stew yourself up at
home, instead of taking the fresh air, as you ought
to do, and all along with that saucy jackanapes,
staring at you so. Well, I wish I was a man, I
would soon teach him better manners."

Fanny walked out in silence, and with a hurried
step, whilst Betty followed her reluctantly, and
continually turning her head to observe the stran
ger ; at length she exclaimed, " well, to be sure,
if that dismal looking man is not following us,
I wish I may never be married."

" Betty," replied Fanny in an angry tone,
"you behave so ridiculously, that it is no wonder
you excite the notice of every body that passes.' *

" Dear me, Miss Fanny, d'ont go to lay the
blame upon me, for you know very well the gen
tleman is looking at you ; so that, I dare say, he
does not know I am here, no more than nothing
at all !"

Betty talked so loud, and stared about her so,
that she verified Fanny's accusation of attracting
the notice of every body that passed her. A gen
tleman on horseback had been observing her
some time, and when he drew quite near, he
jumped off his horse, and giving it to his groom,
he came up to the terrified Fanny, and placing
himself familiarly by . her side, " for Heaven's
sake my sweet girl," said he, attempting to take
her hand, " where did you pick up that strange

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 113

monster for an attendant. I am sure you might
get a good price for her at Exeter 'Change, to be
shown amongst the wild beasts. Do you take her
out with you to serve as a foil to your beauty?"

Fanny made no reply to this unmeaning jargon.
But Betty felt herself so exasperated at the men
tion of being shown amongst the wild beasts, that
she could not contain her spleen, and she said, in
an angry tone of voice, " that some people that
found fault with some people, was a deal more
properer to be sent amongst the wild beasts,
than those they sneered at ; and I wish," added
she, tossing her head disdainfully, " that those
that be dressed like gentlemen, behaved like
gentlemen, and not go about affronting young la
dies that are walking quietly along." The idea
of ranking herself with the lady never entered
poor Betty's head, but the gentleman understood
her that she meant to be included amongst the
young ladies, she had mentioned, and he burst
into an immoderate fit of laughter, and throwing
his arm familiarly round Fanny's waist, he ex
pressed his hopes that she was not affronted
with him, and as to the other young lady, he did
not care about her."

Distressed and terrified beyond expression,
Fanny struggled to get from her persecutor, who
seemed equally diverted by her terror, and her
attendant's angry remonstrances. As it was early
in the morning, but few people were in the park,
a-nd the gentleman, who had assailed Fanny,
feeling no fear of a rescue, amused himself, by
seeming to let her escape, and then catching her
again, until her exhausted spirits gave way, and
she burst into tears.

At that moment the stranger, whose observa
tion of Fanny, had first excited Betty's loud ex
clamations, advanced to the assistance of the dis
tressed girl, and waving his hand with an air of

Ill FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

dignity, that immediately awed the rude object of
his resentment. " Desist, Sir," said he, in a tone
of authority, " that young lady shall not be in
sulted whilst I can protect her."

" And pray, Sir," said the brute, " who are
you /"

" A man," replied the majestic stranger, " and
that is a title you can lay no claim to, whilst you
debase yourself so low as to insult a defenceless
woman 1"

Ashamed of the part he had acted, and yet
unwilling to acknowledge his error, the gentle
man appeared inclined to resent the interference
of Fanny's protector, and muttered something
about satisfaction. But with a dignity truly irre
sistible, the interesting stranger again waved his
hand, " Begone," said he, " and talk not of hav
ing sustained any degradation from me, since it is
impossible, by the utmost exertion of malice, to
place you in a more despicable light than that in
which 1 first beheld you."

Then turning to Fanny, " Rely safely on my
protection, sweet girl," said he, " and rest as
sured, that I would sooner forfeit my life than
suffer you to be insulted." Confused beyond the
power of expression, Fanny could only courte-
sey in silence to her deliverer, and pursue her
way towards home, with a quickened step, in
which agitation and alarm were still visible. Her
persecutor, however, had quitted the Park, and
mounting his horse, was out of sight in a minute ;
as he turned away from her, however, he said, in
an insulting tone, " he hoped that as she had
found somebody more to her mind, she would act
conformably to her own real character, and not
give herself airs that did not belong to her."

" My dear young lady," said the benevolent
stranger, who had just rescued Fanny, " I feel
persuaded that you are as innocent as you look,

THE LITTLK MENDICANT.

115

but I entreat you in future not to walk out with
out, some attendant more proper to protect, you,
than the one you have now got. This town and
its ways I can perceive, are new to you, and you
are therefore more liable to encounter such treat
ment as that you have just escaped from, and,
believe me, you may not always be so fortunate
as you have now been. My sex are in general
the staunch supporters of each other, and but too
much inclined to join in oppressing, rather than in
protecting those, whose guardians they are by the
laws of nature and humanity. The strong resem
blance you bear to a dear departed friend of mine
first attracted my notice, and as I gazed upon
your features, a train of melancholy recollections
crowded upon my mind, and I mechanically, and
without design, followed your footsteps. 1 am
most happy that 1 did so, as it gave me an oppor
tunity of being of service to you !"

Fanny thanked her deliverer in terms of grate
ful respect, and assured him that in future she
would never venture to walk out unprotected.

They had now reached the confines of the Park,
and as they were preparing to cross the road into
Park -lane, Col. Ross overtook them on horseback.
He immediately dismounted, and giving his horse
in charge to his groom, joined the party, with as
tonishment painted on his countenance.

Fanny, who saw that he expected an explana
tion, briefly related the circumstance of the in
sults she had received, and acknowledged the
kind interference of the benevolent stranger.
When Col. Ross had listened to the recital, he
thanked the stranger for his timely assistance to
his young ward, adding, in a tone, that shewed he
did not wish to cultivate the acquaintance, " The
young lady being now under the immediate pro
tection of her guardian, your walk, Sir, need not
be any farther interrupted;" and then .with a

116 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

stiff bow, he wished the gentleman a good
morning.

The bow was returned with equal stiffness, and
measuring the Colonel with a penetrating glance,
the stranger said to Fanny, " Farewell, sweet
girl, may heaven protect and keep you from the
sly designs of the wicked, as well as the open
attacks of the licentious. Remember the advice
of a friend, trust no man, for as the poet says, too
truly:—

" Women, like Princes, find few real friends."

Then waving his hand in the same dignified
manner he had done before, and which seemed
peculiar to himself, the stranger turned round
and left them, pointing his footsteps towards the
place he had left. As soon as Fanny reached
Grosvenor Street, she retired to her chamber,
where she was long before she could recover
her wonted serenity.

Her terror, indeed, had subsided, but the re
collection of the interesting: stranger, affected her

i u j. r

in a manner she could not account lor.

Every look of his beautiful countenance, every
word he had uttered, seemed indelibly engraved
upon her memory, and she dwelt with a mixture
of pain and pleasure upon the most interesting
image her fancy had ever yet contemplated.

The ungrateful manner in which Col. Ross had
treated her deliverer, pained her to reflect upon,
and she felt surprised that a man of the Colonel's
refined breeding, should have shown himself so
wanting in common civility, on an occasion which
certainly did not warrant such an infringement on
the laws of politeness. Fanny little imagined that
jealousy had actuated the Colonel's behaviour,
whose suspicious eye had beheld in the stran
ger a more formidable rival than Lord Ellincourt
iself.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 117

It was true, that he appeared to be past the
first bloom of youth, but it was impossible to
behold him, and not confess that he had a most
graceful form, and a most beautiful countenance.
The soft melancholy that shaded his fine features
excited so powerful an interest in the hearts of
his beholders, that it was not easy to forget, after
once seeing him.

At breakfast, Fanny related the adventures of
the morning, and received a lecture from Lady
Maria, for her imprudence in walking out so far
without any companion but a silly country girl,
more likely by her aukwardness and folly to ex-
c^te, than repel impertinence.

In this reprimand, Col. Ross joined with some
severity, at the same time reproaching his lady
with her carelessness, and want of vigilance, in
permitting a young lady, who was under her
protection,' to be so much her own mistress, as
to be able to go out every morning without her
knowledge.

" I don't know," added the Colonel, « what
may be the consequence of Fanny's adventure ;
the man who delivered her from her first perse
cutor, being, in my opinion, the most dangerous
of the two !"

" Why do you think so, Sir," asked Fanny,
blushing deeply as she spoke.

" Because," replied tlie Colonel, " I believe
him to be a notorious fellow that 1 remember see
ing tried for a swindler some years ago, and if
my conjecture is right, he will no doubt endea
vour to make something out of this adventure."

a Oh, dear !" said Lady Maria, " I am fright
ened to death. We shall be robbed I dare say.
Indeed Fanny you must be very careful, and
above all things never speak to that man, if
you should happen to see him, let his appear
ance be ever so prepossessing, or the company you
No. 6. Q

118 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

see him in ever so respectable. Swindlers have
the art of introducing themselves every where ;
indeed you cannot be too much upon your
guard."

This was the very distrust Col. Ross had
wished to inspire, and he was happy to see his ar-
tifice had produced the desired effect upon his
lady, as he well knew she would effectually pre
vent the approach of the stranger, of whose fu
ture attempts to obtain the confidence of Fanny
he wras really apprehensive, but from a motive
very different to the one he had assigned.

Fanny did not feel herself at all inclined to
give credit to Col. Ross's insinuations against her
deliverer, and she told him that she thought it
illiberal to asperse the character of a man he did
not know, upon no better foundation than the
slight recollection of a face that might resemble
the stranger's, without the least proof, in his power,
of his being the unworthy person he represented
him. " For my part," added the ingenuous girl,
" I must confess, nothing short of conviction
should induce me to think unworthily of that
gentleman. His manner was so gentle, yet firm
and manly, that it at once excited my esteem and
respect. The expression of his eyes, too, spoke
the goodness of his heart, and there >vas a some
thing in the tone of his voice that seemed per
suasion itself."

" At seventeen" replied Col. Ross, " such a
superficial way of judging people may be excused,
but, believe me, Fanny, when I tell you as a friend,
that it would be very dangerous for you to rely
upon so erroneous a guide, in choosing your ac
quaintance. The sound of a man's voice may be
very pleasing, and the expression of his eyes well
calculated to ensnare the hearts of young girls
like you, without his possessing one virtue to en
title him to your esteem."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 119

Fanny was silenced, without being convinced,
and the conversation was here interrupted by the
arrival of Miss Stanhope, who came to ask Fanny
to ride out with her.

" If Fanny is prudent she will refuse your re
quest,'" said Col. Ross, "she has made one excur
sion too many this morning."

" How so ?" asked Amelia.

The Colonel then told the story in his own way,
whilst Fanny, out of all patience at the account
he gave of her kind deliverer, took up the sub
ject, and drew a picture of her new acquaintance
that delighted Miss Stanhope. " Oh," said that
giddy girl, " I am dying to see your swain, Fanny,
I love pensive countenances beyond description.
I hope you are not far gone in the tender pas
sion, for you may depend upon it I shall become
your rival, provided your delineation be a
faithful one."

" It will be an honorable rivalship to be sure,"
said Col. Ross, with a sneer, " a competition who
shall accompany the hero on his voyage to Bo
tany Bay, for there his career will end, depend
upon it. He is a swindler, or I am a dunce !"

te I should think the latter assertion far more
likely to be true than the former," said Miss
Stanhope, laughing, " Fanny's account of $he
charming creature convinces me he is some in
cognito of consequence, and the glory of deve
loping his real character, will perhaps, be mine.
Thank you my dear girl, for giving me some
thing to do that will protect me from the Demon
Ennui. The delightful task of finding out who
this stranger is, will amuse me for this month to
come. But mind you must look out for him,
and show him to me."

" You are likely to have better employment,
Miss Stanhope," said the Colonel, " employment
that will effectually defeat the attacks of that foo

120 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

to the happiness of the idle and the vain, which
you have just mentioned."

" And pray, Sir, to what employment do you
allude ?" asked Amelia.

61 The Duke of Albemarle is expected in
Town to-day, and it will be hard if the prepara
tions for your nuptials cannot supersede the idle
curiosity this silly story has excited."

"A pretty remedy for ennui, upon my honour,"
said Miss Stanhope, " I am sure the very thoughts
of my nuptials, as you call them, give me the va
pours in an instant. Married, indeed ! I am sure,
if the Duke is as much averse to the match as 1
am, our union will make an excellent subject for
a tragedy, and may be called — ' The Double Sa
crifice.'

" Oh the perverseness of human nature," ex
claimed Lady Maria, " how many girls would be
glad to change places with you. The Duke is a
very handsome man, I understand, and very ami
able. His title is ancient, and his fortune equal
to your own."

" The two last considerations are the iron links
that unite our destiny," said Miss Stanhope, " all
the rest is of no consequence. But I'll tell you
what, my dear friend, there is nobody that can
judge so well of the fitting of the shoe, as the
person that wears it. The world may think mine
a bullion lot, but it must not be very angry with
me for dissenting from its opinion. I would
give half my fortune, and all the honour of be
ing a Duchess, for the delightful privilege of

f !/.„

choosing tor mysell.

Fanny sighed deeply, and then blushing, be
cause Col. Ross looked at her as if he wished to
penetrate her thoughts. She rose from the ta
ble, and walked to the window. " Nay, don't sigh
about it," said Miss Stanhope, "perhaps Imiglit
not choose your swain if 1 were to see him, and

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 121

if I should, I would give you the Duke in his
stead, and you hear what a fine bargain his Grace
is!"

"You are a mad creature, Amelia," said Lady
Maria, " but 1 would advise you to see the Duke
before you give him away, for you confess you do
not know whether you like him or not."

" That is the only thing I do know," replied
Miss Stanhope, " I am sure I do not like him,
and I am sure I never shall like him, and all I
have to wish is, that he may not like me, for he
has the power of declining the alliance by the
trifling sacrifice of ten thousand per annum, but
poor 1 must loose all my fortune, if I rebel ; but
enough of this hateful subject, you have given
me the horrors, so if you do not let Fanny ride
with me this morning, to drive them away, I will
never forgive you."

" If Fanny rides with you, / must make one
of the party," said Col. Ross, " lest she should
meet with either of those impertinent fellows she
saw this morning."

" By all means," said Miss Stanhope, " we shall
have no objection to a beau. Will you go, Lady
Maria?"

" O no," hastily answered Col. Ross, -' Maria
is such a timid rider, 1 beg we may not have the
bore of her company !"

" I did not intend to intrude upon you," said
Lady Maria, suppressing the tears that rose in
her eyes, and endeavouring to speak in a gay
tone, " but I remember the time when you used
to be delighted if I would condescend to allow
you to instruct me in the art of the menage.'"

" My dear Maria, you talk of things that hap
pened a hundred years ago," said the Colonel.

" I can only wish then," replied his lady,
" that instances of the same kindness were more
recent!" And as she spoke, she left the room.

122 FATHEHLKSS FANNY ; OR,

Fanny soon followed, to prepare for her ride,
and the Colonel and Miss Stanhope were left
tete-a-tete for half an hour. With the utmost
finesse he endeavoured to persuade Amelia into a
belief that the person who had rescued Fanny,
was a man of bad character, pretending that
he had a perfect recollection of his person, hav
ing seen him tried for the offence he alleged
against him.

""All I dread is," said he, "that this artful
fellow will presume upon the service he has
rendered Fanny, and endeavour to interest her
in his favour; the girl is so romantically grate
ful, that it will not be difficult to accomplish such
a scheme, and then depend upon it we shall suffer
by some unforeseen imposition. Join your influ
ence then, dear Miss Stanhope, with mine, and
help to frighten Fanny out of her good opinion."

" If you had not made such a parade about this
story," replied Amelia, " perhaps I should have
been on your side, but now you seem to set your
heart upon it, I shall disappoint you, for I love
contradiction, so expect to see me on the opposi
tion benches when the matter comes before the
House."

Col. Ross laughed in apparent good humour,
but he devoutly wished his fair friend at New
York for her perverseness.

When Fanny had put on her riding habit, she
returned to the breakfast parlour, and Miss Stan
hope's carriage conveyed the trio to the spqt
where the grooms were waiting with the horses.

The animal Amelia rode was very spirited, and
she frequently expressed her fears that he would
be too much for Tier skill to manage. Fanny,
who was the better horse-woman, offered to
change with her friend ; but the Colonel endea
voured to persuade her not to venture such a
hazardous undertaking, but rather to return to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

the carriage, ' and defer the ride until another
day, when a safer horse could be provided for
Miss Stanhope. The giddy Amelia refused to
listen to this- salutary advice, however; and as
Fanny repeated her offer, the exchange was made.
For some time the fiery animal seemed to submit
to the superior skill of his new manager, and all
went smoothly on, until the sudden elevation of
a boy's kite startled him, and darting forward
with fury, he presently left his companions far
behind him.

Terror deprived Fanny of all pover to check
his speed, and losing her balance, she was thrown
to the ground with a violence that stunned her ;
and when Col. Ross and Miss Stanhope came up
to her, they found her lying, apparently lifeless,
in the arms of a gentleman, who had stopped his
carriage when he saw the accident, and flown to
her assistance.

For the first few minutes they were too much
absorbed in terror to observe the countenance of
Fanny's supporter, but when, after the applica
tion of cold water to her temples, she revived,
and assured her friends that she was not materially
h«rt, Miss Stanhope instantly recognized, in the
features of the gentleman who had assisted Fanny,
too strong a resemblance to the Duke of Albe-
marle, to be in doubt of his identity.

Though only a boy of fourteen when she had
last seen him, the peculiar cast of his counte
nance was too remarkable to be mistaken, and
she had soon the satisfaction of observing that
she had the advantage over her intended hus
band, and was convinced that her own form had
undergone a more material alteration in the space
of seven years than his had done, since he ap
peared not to have the slightest idea who she
was.

124 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

CHAPTER XI.

A Hoax !

THE Duke of Albemarle, for it was really him,
offered his carriage to convey Fanny home, but
Amelia replied, v that as Miss Stanhope's own
carriage would be their immediately, there was
no occasion to intrude upon his politeness." A
groom had been sent in search of the coach,
which had conveyed the ladies as far as the Edge-
ware Road, and it was but a very little while
before it made its appearance.

The Duke instantly recognized the arms, and
became the dupe of Miss Stanhope's artifice, by
mistaking Fanny for his bride elect ; a hoax, Ame
lia had determined upon playing him as soon as
she found herself unknown to him.

The Duke assisted Fanny to the carriage, and
then took- his leave, without taking any notice of
the discovery he thought he had made, and pro
ceeded to Town full of the most pleasing antici
pations of happiness, in his approaching union
with a girl of such exquisite beauty, as the one he
had just been admiring.

He retained but a very slight recollection of
the infantine grace that had been presented to
him as his future wife, before he left England,
and could only remember that he thought her a
pretty girl, although there was certainly no
thing in her appearance that promised such a
full liarvest of perfection as that he had just
been contemplating.

Lord Somertown's house was to be the Duke's
Town residence, until he should be able to fix

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 125

upon one to his mind, and he alighted there in
the highest spirits imaginable, in about half an
hour after he had parted with Fanny.

His uncle was pleased to see him so cheerful,
as the Duke's last letter had been written in a
style of despondency that showed he was not
very sanguine in his expectations of happiness,
in his approaching marriage.

When the Duke related the accident that had
brought him acquainted with Miss Stanhope,
Lord Somertown was still better, pleased, as the
description he gave of the impression her beauty
had made upon his fancy was in the true style of
a lover. " When I saw the lovely creature
thrown from her horse," said his Grace, " terror
was the instinctive emotion of my heart, but lit
tle did I imagine how deeply my own happiness
was concerned in her safety. Thank heaven,"
added he, " the sweet girl though greatly fright
ened was not hurt."

" Well, well, boy," answered Lord Somer
town, " I am glad it is as it is, for it would have
been an inconvenient thing if the girl had been
killed before you had married her ; her fortune
is very necessary to the repair or yours, as that
long Chancery suit with the pretended heir to
your title cost an immensity of money. I am
glad you like the doll so well, too, as that will
make the matrimonial pill go down easier. For
my part I think all the girls of fashion are exactly
alike now-a-days, they all resemble walking-
sticks in their shapes, and French puppets in their
faces ; their dress consists of exactly enough dra
pery to attract one's eye, whilst it is sufficiently
scanty and transparent to shock one's modesty,
and there is so much unmeaning frippery in their
conversation, and so little delicacy or good sense
in their conduct, that I am convinced that the
man who marries for love in these days, must be
either a boy or a dotard."
6. R

126 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

" Your Lordship's picture of female excellence
is not very inviting," said the Duke.

" Female excellence!" rejoined Lord Somer-
town, " why there is no such thing ; but, however,
I do not wish to set you against the potion you
are obliged to swallow, you will find out its bit
terness time enough. Apropos, who was with
Miss Stanhope, in her unlucky excursion this
morning ?"

" A lady and a gentleman," replied the Duke.

" The lady I dare say I can guess at, for she
has picked up an adventress who is making a
good thing out of her, and I hope the first act of
your power, when you marry Miss Stanhope, will
be to break that connection. I hope the gentle
man was not a rival though : girls are such vain

^^ * C1

creatures that they cannot live without an ad
mirer, and I have begun to be afraid, for some
time past, that you would stay so long abroad,
that some needy fellow would snatch up the
prize, before you returned."

"I heard the young lady who was with Miss
Stanhope, call the gentleman Col. Ross," said
the Duke.

" Oh, then all is well," rejoined Lord Soraer-
town, " Col. Ross is married, so there are no
fears from that quarter."

" I am glad to hear it," said the Duke, " for
there was so much anxiety painted on his counte
nance, that I could almost have ventured to be
lieve that he was an admirer of the lady, who
had met the accident. But, my dear uncle, you
talk of Miss Stanhope's marrying some needy
man, as if her fortune was at her own disposal. 1
thought her father's will insisted upon her marry
ing me, on the penalty of losing the bulk of her
fortune, and that / was bound by a similar in
junction to marry none but Amelia."

(f A mere fairy tale invented by my ingenuity,"
rejoined Lord Somertown, " to make you both

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 127

cement the union I have set my heart upon : as
you have fallen in love with the girl, 1 may ven
ture to disclose the secret to you, but I beg you
will guard it carefully from Amelia, on whose
docility we must not rely a single instant, after
that restraint is taken off."

" Deceive her no longer I entreat you," said
the Duke, " to be the object of Miss Stanhope's
unrestrained choice would make me happier
than 1 can express, and how can I ever know that
lam so, whilst she acts under the influence of the
supposed clause in her father's will?"

" 1 did not imagine you were such an idiot,
Henry," exclaimed Lord Somertown, angrily,
" you talk of things that never existed. No wo
man ever had an unbiassed choice in a husband.
They are influenced by vanity, avarice, or ambi
tion, and sometimes by all three. When you
know as much of the sex as I do, you will des
pise them as completely as I do. There is no
animal so perverse as a headstrong girl, trust not
your happiness to her keeping therefore. I hare
confided my secret to you, and if you betray it, I
will find a method of revenging the affront. You
ought to know me, Henry," continued Lord
Somertown, looking sternly at the Duke. " I
have done much to be revenged of those who
scorned my power, and you have benefited by
it : take care therefore how you incur my dis
pleasure ; no one ever yet did so with impunity,
You know the ties of blood are nothing in my
estimation, when opposed to excited vengeance
Remember that, and tremble ! I leave y6ut
mode of acting to yourself, after this caution.'7

The Duke shuddered as he listened to thi
exordium, for he well understood his uncle's allu
sion, and he would gladly have given his titl
and estate to be freed from the unpleasant sen
sations the recollections it awakened excited in

128 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

his bosom. He knew, however, the vindictive
temper of Lord Somertown too well to hazard
the slightest contradiction.

ef Where my duty and my inclination go hand-
m-hand," said his Grace, " there is little fear
of my disobeying your lordship's injunctions:
to marry Miss Stanhope is the most ardent wish
of my heart: that I should do so is your lord
ship's: I shall not therefore risk the possibility
of a disappointment by divulging the import
ant secret ?"

CHAPTER XII.

A Hoax!

IN the meantime Miss Stanhope and Fanny re
turned to town ; the former full of spirits and
drollery, secretly exulting in the imposition she
had practised, of which, however, she avoided
giving the slightest hint to either of her com
panions, fearing lest they should impede the
success of her plot, before she had an opportu
nity of laying its foundation with the security
she meditated, and which once put in train, she
felt certain would defy their genius to overturn.

Fanny's spirits were flurried with the accident
she had met with, and she was but ill able to
bear the raillery with which her lively friend at
tacked her.

" My dear Fanny," said Amelia, " I really
think it would be the safest expedient we could
hit upon, to send you into the country immedi
ately."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 129

a And why so," asked Col. Ross, for Fanny
was silent.

" Why don't you perceive," rejoined Miss
Stanhope, " that she can neither walk nor ride
without meeting with adventures and knight-er-

^r ' c?

rants. Depend upon it she will be run waay with
some day, and then we. shall lament the temerity
that exposed her to such danger."

Col Ross bit his lips. It was a suggestion his
own anxious heart had often presented to his
fancy, but he did not dare to avow it. " Now
don't you think it very likely to happen ?"
continued Miss Stanhope, looking archly, " you
were afraid of the Adonis she met in the morning,
but I have the most reason to be afraid now, for I
will wager a thousand guineas she steals my lover
from me before I am a week older."

" Your lover," re-echoed the Colonel, " for
Heaven's sake, Miss Stanhope, who do you al
lude you ?"

" To the Duke of Albemarle," replied she,
fe that was the invincible knight who just now
spread his fostering arms to shelter this beautiful
damsel."

As Miss Stanhope spoke, Fanny's cheeks were
dyed with crimson, and a deep sigh escaped her.
An indistinct feeling like disappointment, shot
through her heart. She was sorry to hear that
the stranger she had thought so agreeable, was a
man of wliom she must think of no more. She
tried, however, to turn the conversation, by ob
serving, " that she wondered the Duke had not
recognised Miss Stanhope."

"I dare say," answered Amelia, laughing, "that
the Duke thinks me so much improved in beauty,
thathedoes not suspect his happiness in being des
tined to so lovely a creature, and so his humility
painted out a fair one more upon a par with his

130

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

own merits. Well, never mind, my dear, I will
not pull caps with you. The Duke does not
please me, but I shall not say so. Let him cry
out first. A few thousands per annum will be a
trilling sacrifice in the cause, for which Mark
Anthony lost the world T

In this unmerciful manner did Amelia continue
to roast poor Fanny, until the carriage stopped at
Col. Ross's door, and for the first time since they
had become acquainted, Fanny felt rejoiced to
get rid of her agreeable friend, who could not
command time enough to alight to tell Lady
Maria Ross " The wonders of the ride" a cir
cumstance she lamented most pathetically.

Col. Ross was as glad as Fanny to see Amelia
depart, for the tempest of jealousy her sugges
tions had raised in his bosom, required the retire
ment of his closet to subdue, and bring within the
limits of his usual self-command. To his closet,
therefore, he flew as soon as he entered the house>
and Fanny repaired to her own chamber, where
throwing herself on her bed, she gave way to the
flood of tears that had long been struggling for
freedom. She had suppressed them whilst in
Amelia's presence, because she feared she would
attribute their flowing to a silly and sudden par
tiality imbibed by a.jirst sight impression, a spe
cies of romance Fanny had always condemned,
when conversing with Miss Stanhope upon the
subject of attachment.

Scarcely indeed could she herself tell from
whence the weeping propensity originated, but
fellmost inclined to attribute it to the influence of
her wounded pride, which had shrunk from Miss
Stanhope's raillery, with a degree of pain very
unusual to the naturally humble minded Fanny.
Poor outcast Orphan as I am," said the weep
ing girl, ((- dependant on the bounty of strangers,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 131

and unblest even with a name. My nature assi
milates not with such degrading circumstances.
I feel no innate symptoms of baseness : why then
should I be trampled upon by those whose for
tunes are better, although their sentiments may
be inferior to mine ? Miss Stanhope is blest with
fortune, and its sure attendants — friends. She
can command admirers; it is ungenerous, there
fore, in her, to make my insignificance the subject
of her amusement."

These reflections were the bitterest Fanny had
ever made, the secret cause that made them so, I
leave to my sagaciousy<ema/e readers to find out;
not in the least doubting that they will be able to
ascribe the effect to its genuine cause ; and with
those who are clear-sighted enough to unravel
the mystery, 1 flatter myself poor Fanny will
stand acquitted of habitual ill-humour. A little
acrimony may surely be excused on so trying an
occasion.

In a few hours after Miss Stanhope's return
home, she received a note from the Duke of Al-
bcmarle, announcing his arrival, and entreating
permission to pay his compliments in person to
the lady who held his future happiness at her
disposal ?

Amelia answered the note, and fixed the fol
lowing morning for receiving the visit of the im
patient lover. The Duke thought this interval
an age, but he was forced to submit, and the mis
chievous Amelia enjoyed the double pleasure of
reflecting on his present suspense, and approach
ing disappointment. When the appointed hour
arrived, the Duke was announced, and entered
the apartment where Amelia was sitting at her
music, with such a degree of eagerness, that he
scarcely gave the servant time to name him, 'ere
he stood before her. His impatience, however,
was not more evident than his disappointment ;

132 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

when, on Amelia's rising to receive him, he per
ceived that she was not the lady he had expected
to «ee. The words he had be^un to speak faltered
on .his tongue, and he stopped short in the middle
of a fine speech, to the diversion of his cruel mis
tress, and the inexpressible confusion of his own
fee?iinp's.

^?

The Duke was accompanied by Lord Somer-
town : he did not, therefore, dare to account for
has embarrassment, and that nobleman attributed
i<; solely to the foolishness inseparable from a boy's
attachment. The Marquis of Petersfield soon en-
t ered the room, and relieved him in some degree,
1 )y turning the conversation upon general sub-
j.-ects.

After some little discussion of the politics and
news of the day, Lord Somertown asked the Mar
quis whether he had purchased the pictures at
/Christie's, which he saw him bidding for.

" I have," replied Lord Petersfield, and if your
lordship will do me the favour to give your opi
nion of a Titian I have amongst the number, it
will greatly oblige me ?"

" Certainly," answered Lord Somertown, " let

i is look at it directly. The young people," added

I le, nodding significantly, " will excuse our leav-

ii ig them together for a few minutes." So saying,

tl !ie two guardians left the room, and the Duke's

e. mbarrassment returned with increased violence.

IV. [iss Stanhope, who enjoyed her poor lover's con-

fi ision, determined to increase it. " I little

tl lought," said she, smiling archly, " when I re-

c< jived such polite attention from your Grace yes-

t( ;rday morning, after my unfortunate fall, that it

w as to the Duke of Albemarle I was indebted for

a,( jsistance ; but your Grace seems to have forgot-

t* m the whole circumstance, for you have not

o nee enquired how I am after my fright."

The Duke was struck dumb at this speech ; he

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 133

mechanically put his hand to his eyes, as it' to as
certain whether they were really his own eyes,
and Miss Stanhope burst into a fit of laughter,
that completely disconcerted him.

"It is time,1' said she, " to finish the joke. I
perceive your Grace's distress, which is, indeed,
an awkward one, and although I have been mis
chievous enough to enjoy it for a little while, 1
cannot find it in my heart to protract it any longer.
I have entered most unwillingly into the deceit
that is practised upon you, and I feel myself
unequal to the task of imposing any longer upon
your credulity. I will therefore be candid, pro
vided your Grace will pledge your word and
honour that you will not own I have done so,
until /give you leave."

The Duke, whose curiosity was raised to the
highest pitch by this preamble, and whose hopes
began to revive at the same time, readily entered
into the conditional promise, and Ityliss Stanhope
proceeded with her hoax.

" Amelia Stanhope," said she, " is a whimsi
cal creature, for, although I love her dearly,
nobody is quicker in discovering her errors than
I am. This giddy girl could not bear the idea
of being introduced to her husband elect as a
commodity he was obliged to take, whether he
liked it or not, and having read in some novel, I
suppose, of the metamorphosis of lovers to ren
der themselves more amiable in the eyes of those
they wished to please, she determined to get up
a little drama, which was to be performed in ho
nour of your Grace's arrival. In this piece J
have the principal part, for I am honoured by
personating Miss Stanhope, whilst she herself has
assumed the simple guise which belongs to me,
and which you will see her perform with admir
able grace and naivete. In that disguise she
expects to win your Grace's heart, and if 1 have

6 s

134 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

any skill in augury, her expectations are not ill-
founded. Lord Somertown and the Marquis
are both in the secret, and they are anticipating
the pleasure of seeing your embarrassment, when
you find yourself entangled in an attachment so
seemingly contrary to their wishes, and which the
denouement of the piece is to dissipate in the
prettiest manner imaginable. The moment I saw
your Grace enter the room this morning, I recol
lected your features, and knew you for the gen
tleman who assisted Miss Stanhope yesterday
morning. The hoax I knew therefore must fall
to the ground, and this determined me to tell
you of it first, and if you have half a grain of
wit, you will turn the tables upon the authors of
it, by appearing to believe things as they repre
sent them, and acquiescing in their wishes as to
the proposed alliance ; this will secretly mortify
them, whilst you can ensure Amelia's good will
by clandestine testimonies of your admiration,
and by private marriage with her under her bor
rowed character, you can put the most romantic
finish to the whole affair. Rest assured of my
assistance, provided you keep the secret ; and
when you have seen the pretended Fanny, you
will be better able to tell me how far you will
like to proceed under my directions."

It is impossible to describe the astonishment
and delight that filled the Duke's mind as Amelia
laid her pretended scheme before him ; but al
though he wondered, he did not doubt. He rea
dily therefore promised to act under the direc
tion of his teacherous guide, who in return as
sured him that he should see the rea/Miss Stan
hope that night, if he would meet them at the
Opera.

The arrangement was but just made when the
two Lords returned, and the Duke soon after
wards took his leave, saying, as he quitted the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 135

room, " at the Opera, then, Madam, I shall hope
to renew the pleasure I have enjoyed this morn
ing." Amelia nodded assent, and the lover de
parted, accompanied by Lord Somertown ; nei
ther of them dreaming of the trick Miss Stan
hope had been playing.

She, however, was so diverted with the thoughts
of it, and so delighted with the success which had
crowned her first attempts, that she was in perfect
ecstacies, and could scarcely perform the duties
of her toilet, for laughing at the frolic.

CHAPTER XIII.

Cross purposes.

As the Duke and Lord Somertown returned to
gether in the carriage, the latter said with a
" smile, and do you really think the impression
you have received indelible. Do you believe
your heart invincible to any other attachment ?"

" My heart," replied the Duke, " must be
very deceitful if it has not received a lasting
impression. I think I shall not easily change."

" I am glad you speak dubiously upon the
subject," answered Lord Somertown, laughing,
" it shows you are less of the blockhead than 1
took you to be, from your first rhapsody. I
wish you to marry Miss Stanhope, but I don't
think it necessarily follows that you should make
&fool of yourself !

The Duke smiled, but he made no reply. He
attributed Lord Somertown' s asperity, not to his
natural morose disposition, but to the particular
mortification he felt at supposing he, the Duke,

136

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

admired the fictitious instead of the real Miss
Stanhope.

Nothing more, however, passed on the subject
between them; and the Duke passed the hours
that intervened between that and the Opera,
in arranging his plans respecting the double
part he was to act, so as to keep up the farce of
attention to the pretender, and yet satisfy the
rightful sovereign that he was devoted to her
alone.

In the mean time Miss Stanhope called upon
Fanny to entreat her to accompany her to the
Opera, and spend a few days with her at the
Marquis of Petersfield's. Fanny did not appear
much inclined to join the party ; but after a little
persuasion, and a good deal of raillery upon her
sudden predilection for solitude, she yielded to
her lively friend, and promised to make one in the
Marchioness of Petersfield's box that evening,
and accompany Amelia home for a few days, pro
vided the scheme was approved oy Lady Maria
Ross, who was also of the party, and about half-
past nine they entered the Opera House.

The poor Duke had been there ever since
the opening of the doors, devoutly cursing the
fashionable folly which rendered it vulgar to see
the beginning of any public exhibition.

His Grace was in the pit, with his eyes fixed
on that part of the gay hemisphere where he
expected the rising of the star he worshipped.
No sooner had he recognized the entrance of the
party, than he flew to join them.

Miss Stanhope received his compliments with
a smile, and turning to Fanny, begged leave to
introduce her friend to his Grace.

" Miss Fanny" said she, emphatically, " I
would add anotner name if I could, but I must
leave that for your Grace's ingenuity to supply
in what manner you please." The latter part of

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 137

this was spoken in a low voice, and the arch smile
that accompanied it, convinced the Duke that
Amelia alluded to her own assumed character.

The admiration the Duke had felt at the first
interview with Fanny was increased at this mo
ment: there was a dignity in her look and manner
he had not before observed, and the expression
that beamed from her beautiful eyes was calcu
lated to awe as well as to enchant

The cause of this change in the usual appear
ance of Fanny, which generally gave the idea of
feminine softness, rather than dignity, originated
in the peculiarity of her feelings respecting the
Duke.

His appearance had struck her as the most
agreeable she had ever seen, before she knew
wno he was, and when she learnt the disagreeable
truth, she instantly determined to subdue the
slight partiality she felt. Miss Stanhope's rail
lery had roused her pride, and her promise not to
" pull caps" with her for the Duke, seemed to
imply, that she thought Fanny would be glad to
attract his Grace's notice, if she could do it with
impunity. " I wish not to interfere with Amelia's
lovers," thought she, " and she shall see that
the Duke is not an object to excite my ambi
tion."

Full of these proud resolutions, Fanny's eyes
wore a look of hauteur very different from their
usual expression ; yet was the change an improve
ment, as it gave a spirit to her beauty that
rendered it more striking and impressive.

Deep blushes mantled on her cheeks as the
Duke paid his compliments to her, but the cold
ness with which she turned away from him, the
moment he had done speaking, mortified, though
it tended to increase his passion.

In vain did the Duke endeavour to engage
her in conversation; her laconic answers, politely

138 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

but coldly given, still terminated every subject
he started.

In the Coffee-room, after the Opera was over,
Lord Somertown joined the party, and the Duke's
attention to Fanny was not lost upon that no
bleman. " The boy is a fool," said he mentally,
" and ready to fall in love with every school girl
he meets with. A few hours ago he was dying
for Miss Stanhope, and now the idiot is worship
ing a new divinity ; but I know boys too well
to notice their folly. Opposition only gives fire
to romantic love, the spark will go out of itself,
if the breath of contradiction does not fan it
into flames."

The next day the Duke of Albemarle paid
Miss Stanhope an early visit. " What an ami
able creature are you my dear Madam," said he,
" in showing such compassion to me. Had you left
me in ignorance on this trying occasion, my suffer
ings would have been insupportable."

" It is plain you think me very amiable" re
plied Amelia, laughing, " when you confess so
candidly to my face that the bare idea of being
united to me, would have been insupportable to
you. But if Jove forgave the perjuries of lovers,
surely mere mortals may pardon their rudeness."

6< Nay," interrupted the Duke, "you wrong
me, Madam, and wrest my words from their real
meaning. I did not say the idea of marrying
you would be insupportable, it was my suspense,
respecting the object of my choice, that I ex
claimed against, and as that choice, as sudden as
it is ardent, was made before I had ever looked
at you, surely the shadow of offence cannot be
imputed to me."

" Tolerably well turned," answered Miss Stan
hope, "but tell me, my Lord, candidly, supposing
all that I have told you should be proved a inore
fabrication of my own brain, how would you be

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 139

inclined to act? Would you play Mark Anthony,
or Shylock? Would you throw away the world
for love, or, insist upon your ' bond?"1 '

The Duke started — he did not like the sugges
tion, it gave rise to doubts that had not before
tormented him, and he knew not what to answer.
Amelia saw his confusion and enjoyed it.

" I'll tell you what," said she, " I am afraid you
are too luke warm a lover for Amelia Stanhope ;
she is romance personified, and the man who
would not run away with her, at the risk of never
possessing a shilling of her fortune, will never
marry her you may depend upon it."

" The man who could think of fortune, when
put in competition with the possession of Miss
Stanhope, would be unworthy such a prize!"
said the Duke, " but why, dear Madam, torment
me with queries, that involve even your own ve
racity as well as my happiness, in clouds of obscu
rity ?"

te I don't know why I started the difficulty,"
said Miss Stanhope, laughing, " unless it were
meant to increase your passion, for say what you
will, there is no stimulus in love equal to diffi
culty."

" There is a charm in your mischief-loving spi
rit, that would be dangerous to contemplate,"
said the Duke, " to a man less a captive than I
am. The witchery of your smiles is encrcased by
the mischief that seems to lurk beneath them,
and those you most delight to torment) would be
most likely to feel pleasure from the infliction."

" Don't waste you time in complimenting me,"
said Amelia, laughing, " for betide what will, from
me you can have no expectations. Had I not
been quite clear upon that head, 1 would not
have undertaken the part 1 am playing."

" If then your are so clear as what I may hope
for from yourself," said the Duke, " deign, dear

140 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

Madam, to inform me what are my dependancies
with your friend ?"

" There are few women who can answer for
themselves" said Amelia, " and you are unreason
able enough to expect that 1 should answer for my
friend. I do not give so wide a latitude to the
duties of friendship. Thus far I will venture to
tell you, if you win Amelia Stanhope, you must
possess more merit than is at this moment appa
rent to your humble servant. ' Exert your ener
gies,' therefore, my lord Duke, and who knows
what may happen?"

"Provoking, tantalizing girl!" said the Duke,
in a tone of impatience, " how can you make an
amusement of my sufferings, and laugh at my
distress. Surely such softness of feature was
never intended to enshrine a heart so impervious
to humanity ?"

" A pretty story, truly," exclaimed Amelia,
"that I am to be stigmatized with the appella
tion of barbarian, because I do not melt forsooth
into sympathetic tears of pity, at the unheard of
sufferings of a man, who having been eight-and-
forty hours in love, is still uncertain whether his
mistress approves of him or not ! ! ! Thank Hea
ven my sensibility does not keep pace with your
impetuosity, if it did, my poor nerves would be
in a lamentable situation indeed !"

The Duke could not help smiling at the ludi
crous turn A melia gave to his complaints, though
he little imagined the full extent of the irony she
addressed to him.

" To be serious for a moment, if that indeed be
possible," said the Duke, " will my fair instruc
tress condescend to tell me what I am to say to
my uncle when he questions me as to my recep
tion by Miss Stanhope. Am I to report a gra
cious hearing or not ?"

" Nay, I leave that to your own discretion,"

THE LITTLE MENDtOANT. 14-1

replied Amelia, " / am the ostensible Miss Stan
hope, and I am sure / have received you very
kindly ; therefore you may safely say so. But 1
would advise you to throw in a few hints, when
you are talking to your uncle, how much you
would prefer the portionless Fanny, to the rich
heiress, provided you could follow your own in
clination.

" Lord Somertown will pretend to reprove
your imprudence, but he will be secretly pleased
with your penetration and sound judgment, for
he is as eager for the success of the romance as
my friend, and quite as deep in the plot. Suffer
all the preliminaries to be settled just as if you
intended to marry Miss Stanhope in her proper
character, and then give zest to the joke, run
away with her a few days before the one fixed
for your nuptials, under the fictitious name of
Fatherless Fanny. Oh the story will make the
prettiest novel that ever was, and Amelia Stan
hope will be better pleased with the denouement
than any other person !"

" Would to Heaven I were sure of that !" said
the Duke, " but the expression of her eyes does
not speak so flattering a language."

" Nay, never mind that," replied , Amelia,
laughing, " for that may be as foreign from the
truth as the rest of the plot. ( A faint heart never
won a fair lady.' Go on, therefore, and prosper,
you have my good wishes, and Miss Stanhope's
tpo, or I am mistaken !"

CHAPTER XIV.

The Concert.

Miss STANHOPE, without disclosing a tittle of
her plot to Fanny, managed it so well, that she

No. 7. T

141 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

made her act in concert with her. The necessity
of meeting the Duke continually was very irk
some to Fanny ; but Amelia laid her plans so
adroitly, that the former could not excuse herself
from joining the parties of the latter, without
giving the very reason she wished to conceal.

Instead of feeling flattered by the Duke's at
tentions, as she would have done had she con
sidered herself entitled to receive his addresses,
Fanny lopked upon them as little short of insult,
since the pointed manner in which they were
paid her, left her no possibility of mistaking their
import.

" To what end," would she say to herself,
"does the Duke of Albemarle address himself
to me / Does he not know that 1 am acquainted
with the nature of his engagement to Miss
Stanhope? are they not publicly acknowledged
to the world by the preparations that are making
for their union ? It is true that Amelia professes to
dislike the Duke; nay, even affects to ridicule
him; but she puts no barrier in the way of his
addresses. He is received' as her acknowledged
lover ; and though it is sufficiently evident that
there is no love-on either side, yet, if convenience
be the motive of their union, it will be never
theless a marriage, and therefore renders his
addresses to any other woman a gross insult to
her delicacy."

While these ideas were passing in Fanny's
mind, the Duke, who supposed her a party in a
plot to deceive him, and who exulted in the
knowledge of that plot, persevered in paying her
the most marked attention, still carefully adhering
to Miss Stanhope's injunctions not to give a hint
of his knowledge of the deception. The Duke,
who joined to a person the most engaging, a per
fection in the art of pleasing that might have
rendered a less handsome man irresistible, was a

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 143

general favourite with the ladies, and his atten
tions to Fanny were not observed without excit
ing considerable emotions of envy and malice.
The nameless Girl was already obnoxious to
their hatred from the eclat of her beauty, and
now they gave vent in the most unequivocal
terms, to their rancour and ill-nature. " It was a
shame," they said, " that a girl like that should
be suffered to rival a young lady of Miss Stan
hope's consequence ; and they wondered the
Marquis of Petersfield and Lord Somertown
would allow of such doings; they ought to in
terpose their authority, and remove a person so
unfit for the circles of fashion as Fanny certain
ly was."

^hese whispers reached Lord Somertown's
ears; and as he had always felt the most decided
aversion to poor Fanny, he determined to speak
to Col. Ross and Lady Maria on the subject,
and try if nothing could be done to get rid of so
dangerous a person before the mischief had gone
too far. His Lordship recollected with regret
that he had himself betrayed the secret to the
Duke respecting his alliance with Miss Stanhope,
at a moment when he had bee* led to imagine that
his nephew was as anxious for the match as he
was; and by this imprudence the Duke knew that
there was no penalty attached to his dereliction
from the proposed marriage.

After all the pains Lord Somertown had taken,
and the guilt he had incurred, to ensure the title
of Albemarle to his nephew, the bare idea of his
ingratitude was distinction! — Should he marry
the nameless portionless girl that seemed now
to engross all his attention, Lord Somertown felt
that he should scarcely survive the event, since
the hatred he felt for the innocent object of his
nephew's affection, was as violent as it was unde
served.

144 FATHERLESS FANNV $ OK,

From the first moment he hc-d seen the sweet
girl, he had hated her ; and the expression of his
eyes had been so true to the feelings of his soul,
that Fanny had felt a terror she could neither
account for nor subdue, whenever she had found
herself the object of his scrutiny.

The Duke of Albemarle had been in England

^y

now about two months, and it was daily expected
that his Grace's nuptials would be shortly fixed
with the rich Miss Stanhope, whilst the busy cir
cle that reported these conjectures never failed
to add, that, " the divine friendship" that sub
sisted between Amelia and Fanny, would be a
source of much pleasure so the Duke, whenever
the union took place : and as, no doubt, all
parties were agreed, it might prove a happy
compact.

Tne only persons who heard nothing of these
whispers, were those most concerned in their im
port, — the trio themselves. That they were the
objects of particular observation they could not
fail of being conscious ; but this they attributed
to the celebrity of Miss Stanhope's fortune, and
approaching nuptials."

At a concert, one evening, however, the buz
was more than usually active ; and Fanny, who
was more particularly the object of ill-natured
observation, felt the painful impression of the
whisper in circulation. Her nature delicate and
modest, shrunk from the general stare, and suf
ferings the most exquisite were painted on her
intelligent countenance.

Not so, Miss Stanhope; she, with her accus
tomed liveliness, was listening to the nonsense of
Sir Everard Mornington, a young man of dash--
ing celebrity, who, besides being a member of
the Four-in-Hand Club, was the epitome of every
thing ridiculous in the long list of fashionable
folly. His fortune was large, and his person

THE MTTI.E MfeSDICAXT. 145

handsome, and therefore even those people who
had sense enough to laugh at his tbibles, pretend
ed to tolerate them in consideration of his ex
treme good nature and generosity. In Miss Stan
hope's eyes, however, he rose above toleration",
for she doated upon eccentricity, and her ear was
charmed by the frequent repetitions of those
elegant phrases prime and bang-up, and the rest
of that unintelligible slang which has lately been
substituted for good sense and good breeding. The
relation of his exploits in the Olympic art of cha
rioteering, was more interesting to her feelings
than she could possibly have found in the annals
of the most distinguished conquerors. Sir Ever-
ard was not insensible to the honour of Miss
Stanhope's approbation ; and from the first even
ing of their acquaintance, he had determined
that she alone, of all the girls he knew, black,
brown, or fair, should sit beside him on the dicky,
when he drove to the temple of hymen. The
slight difficulty of a prior-engagement was no
thing to his magnanimous soul. " There was
but little merit," he said, "in winning a race
where all the competitors started fair ; but to
overtake and overturn a seemingly successful
rival, would be prime and bang-up with a ven
geance !"

The Duke had been conversing with Fanny,
at the beginning of the entertainment, and paying
her those thousand delicate and nameless atten
tions which mark so well the affection of the
heart. Fanny had received them, as she always did
with the most frigid coldness. When a delicate
mind feels it necessary to struggle with a growing
partiality for an object every way calculated to
render the task difficult, the effort is made with
all the fervour of determined virtue, and no out
ward symptom betrays the struggle within. The
Duke felt piqued at her indifference, and began

146 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

to ill ink whether he had not been deceived by
his informer, when he was taught to suppose she
had cherished a wish to enslave him.

Full of these thoughts he had quitted Fanny's
side, and wandered to the opposite side of the
room.

Lady Maria Ross, who gat on the other side of
Fanny, was engaged in deep conversation with
some ladies near her, and the poor girl was left
exposed to the whispers and the observations of
the surrounding ladies, as we just now related, a
situation of whose disagreeables she was by no
means insensible.

Absorbed in her own unpleasant reflections,
she did not observe that a gentlemen had taken
the seat next her, which the Duke had just left,
until his voice addressing her, roused her from
her reverie.

" Once more," said he, in a tone, which Fanny
instantly knew to be the voice of the stranger,
whose politeness had rescued her from insult, in
the Park, on the morning of her well-remembered
walk ; " once more I am so happy as to meet
with the sweet girl, whose image has lived in
my heart ever since the first moment I beheld
her. Yet mistake me not, gentle lady," con
tinued he, speaking more softly, " I am no lover
come to offer the incense of flattery at the shrine
of beauty. That passion is for ever extinct in this
bosom ; it is buried in the tomb of her you resem
ble. The offering I bring you is friendship the most
sublime ; such love as guardian angels feel for
those they watch over. Deign then to listen to
my warning voice : — temptation, and danger,
nay, even death itself, appear to threaten you ;
refuse not then the friend that heaven itself has
sent."

It is impossible to describe the variety of emo
tions that filled the bosom of Fanny as she listen-

Tljli LITTLli MENDICANT. 147

ed to this strange address. The most predomi
nant was fear : terrified at perceiving that she
was observed more than ever, her first impulse
was to fly ; and she was rising from her seat, un
conscious of the action, when she felt the stran
ger's hand laid upon her arm to prevent her
removal, and she mechanically re-seated herself.

" You seem to fear observation," said he,
in a gentle voice, " and yet you were about to
excite it in the most imprudent manner. Sit still,
sweet girl, and be not afraid of the only friend
this room contains for you."

There was a charm in the voice of the stranger
that had a powerful effect upon the heart of- Fan
ny ; she had felt it the first time he spoke to her,
and it seemed to increase rather than diminish in
the repetition.

She raised her timid eyes to his face, and won
dered at the delight that thrilled through her
frame, as she read affection in those of the persua
sive speaker. She immediately cheeked the emo
tion, and endeavoured to recover her serenity, but
she could only look composed ; the feelings of her
mind were not to be subdued. The penetrating
eye of the stranger perceived the struggle, and'
again addressed her.

" I am impelled towards yous, lovely girl," said
he, " by an interest as undefinable as it is irresis
tible. I observe with pleasure that you participate
in my feelings, although the sympathy is involun
tary. The instinct of the soul is incapable of
error ; I am persuaded, therefore, that we shall
one day be satisfied why we experience the emo
tions that now agitate us both."

Fanny continued silent during the whole of this
address ; for she feared to trust her voice, lest its
tremulous sound should betray her agitation. She
did not feel so well assured that it was the effect

14B FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

of divine inspiration, and therefore chose rather
to check than encourage it.

She had been combating the rising partiality
that had been awakened in her bosom by the
Duke of Albemarle, and she could not help feel
ing both surprised and provoked that a person, of
whose very name she was ignorant, and whom
she had seen but once before, should be able to
excite sentiments of tenderness in her heart, far
superior to any she had ever before experienced,
and which, although they bore no resemblance
to the partiality she felt for the Duke, were so
new and uhdefinable, that she trembled to admit
them.

" I perceive," said the stranger, observing that
Fanny's reverie was both deep and painful, " 1
perceive that the abruptness of my address has
alarmed your delicacy ; but fear not, sweet girl,
I repeat, 1 am no lover ; consider me as a moni
tor and friend, and listen to my admonitions : You
are surrounded by treachery : beware of the
Duke of Albemarle ; beware of Col. Ross ; but
above all beware of Lord Somertown."

Fanny turned pale. " Good Heaven," exclaim
ed she, " what danger threatens me ? The peo
ple of whom you warn me are nothing to me.
Why then should I fear them ? Explain your
mysterious caution, I implore you ; for it terri
fies without instructing me."

" Explanation here is impossible," replied the
stranger, " but meet me in xthe park, where I
first saw 3rou, to-morrow morning, and I will re
veal the mystery that perplexes you."

" Meet a stranger by appointment," said Fan
ny, colouring with indignation, " it is you Sir,
I ought to fear, who advise me so imprudently ;"
and rising from her seat as she spoke, she quit
ted the side of the stranger, and immediately

Ttffc LITTLE MENDIG;VNT.

joined Miss Stanhope, who had just beckoned
her to come to her. " You are a pretty Miss,
indeed," said she, laughing;, as Fanny approached
her, " two conquests in an evening is too much.
" How two conquests," repeated Fanny, " I do
not understand you ?" " Oh ! I will enlighten
your understanding, my dear — you have been
first flirting with the Duke of Alberaarle, and
now I have caught you coqueting with the rich
Mr. Hamilton."

" Mr. Hamilton !" said Fanny, " is the gentle
man who has just been talking to me named
Hamilton ?" " Yes, my dear, do you like the
name better than Albemarle ?"

" Oh, no," said Fanny, naively, " I only re
peated the name because the house Lady Ellin-
court purchased in Yorkshire, belonged to a Mr.
Hamilton, and I have always had my thoughts
about that house."

" Well, and now I suppose you will have your
own thoughts about its late master," said Miss
Stanhope, " for that gentleman in black is he.
The late Mr. Hamilton left his immense fortune to
him on the condition of his taking his name ; —he
met him abroad, and took a fancy to him for some
of his winning ways that seems to have charmed
you, for I hear he was no relation to him. There's
a history for you, my dear, so now let's have your
part of the romance, has he been making love
to you ? he looked mighty sweet methinks."

" No, indeed !" said Fanny, " he has not been
making love to me ; but do you know he is the
stranger I met with in Hyde Park, that morning
when Col. Ross was so angry with me : and ho is
the person that Col. Ross said was a swindler"

" Charming, charming," rejoined Miss Stan
hope, " the plot thickens. Well ! ray dear, I
like the story va>tly, and you shall marry which
you like, the Duke or Mr. Hamilton/1

7. i

150 FATHERLESS FAXXY ; OR,

" It is ridiculous to talk of marrying'either,"
replied Fanny, in a tone of vexation.

" It is not so ridiculous as you may choose ^to
think it, interrupted Miss Stanhope, " forl have
the most unquestionable authority for asserting
that the Duke of Albemarle is inflove with you."

Amelia raised her voice a little as she pro
nounced the latter part of her speech, and Lord
Somertown's ear caught the important informa
tion it conveyed, as he was approaching in order
to speak to her. It was enough to rouse all the
demons within him, and turning upon his heel,
he sought for Col. Ross, to whom he merely said,
that ff he wished for a private conference with
him the next morning, on a subject of im
portance, and begged to know whether he
would do him the honor of receiving him to
breakfast with him."

The Colonel said " he was disengaged, and
would certainly expect his Lordship at the hour
appointed." Lord Somertown bowed, and imme
diately quitted Colonel Ross for the purpose of
more strictly observing Fanny.

The result of this observation was not pleasing
to him, for he had soon the pain of seeing the
Duke of Albemarle resume his place beside her,
and Lord Somertown had been too long an inha
bitant of the world to remain any longer igno
rant of his nephew's sentiments respecting her.

Fury flashed from his eye, as conviction shot
through his heart, and the emotion was so strong,
that the following words escaped his clinched
teeth, as his terrible glance fell upon the object
of his hatred : — Base worm ! thou shalt perish
for daring to oppose my wishes.

His rage was changed to horror, however, when
a voice, close to his ear, exclaimed in an awful
tone — " Thou too art perishable, frail mortal I
thy power is limited, thy days are numbered —

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 1*1

beware then how thou threatenest another ! an
eye observes thee that thou dreamest not of,"

A cold shiver ran through Lord Somertown's
frame, as he listened to accents too well remem
bered : scarcely did he dare to turn his head, lest
he should behold a face the voice had too fatally
recalled. But curiosity is an impulse more pow
erful than fear itself. Agitated, as he was,
with horror and dismay, he could not resist the
eager dictates of that arbitrary power, and his
eye involuntarily sought the person who had
uttered the terrific words : it caught a glimpse
of his retiring form, and, as if blasted by the
view, instantly closed, his limbs stiffened, and he
fell on the ground ; the surrounding company
were terrified at this catastrophe, though uncon
scious of its cause. Lord Somertown was raised
from the ground and conveyed into an adjoining
apartment, medical assistance sent for, and an
apoplectic fit was the name given to the visita
tion of remorse.

The confusion this accident occasioned put an
end to the concert. The company hastily called
for their carriages, and retired ; all except those
immediately connected with his Lordship. They
staid and witnessed his recovery from the stupor
into which an accusing conscience had plunged
him ; they saw his wildly staring eyes, as he cast
them around the room, in search of the spectre
that had alarmed him ; and listened with horror
to his incoherent allusions to scenes of former
guilt and cruelty.

The Duke of Albemarle, however, finding that
his uncle uttered expressions that too plainly
told that all was not right within, proposed his
being removed to his own house, and, as the
physician pronounced that.it might be done with
safety, his lordship was supported to his carriage
in the arms of his servants ; and by that conveyed

152 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

to where he was put to bed. His pillow, swelling
with down, received his aching nead; the rich
drapery that hung round his bed shaded his dim
eyes from the tapers that burnt on his table, and
busy attendants crowded around him to prevent
his wishes.

But, alas ! repose was not to be found within
the sumptuous apartment — no down could aidmi-
nister tile sweets of rest to a disturbed consci
ence ; and although the silken hangings might

L ~ CS ™ "

exclude the blaze of waxen tapers, they could
not shelter the mind's eye from the bright flame
of conviction that awakened busy memory, and
bid her inflict tortures which could neither be
borne nor eluded. The ready domestic, how
ever, willing to anticipate his Lord's wishes, could
not present him with the only cordial his fevered
lip pouted for — the water of oblivion, whose
friendly powers might teach him to forget his

fuilt, and thereby escape the remorse that
arrowed up his soul, and filled him with
unutterable anguish.

CHAPTER XV.

A Morning Visit.

ALAS ! why does not remorse induce repent
ance ? Too often we find it has a contrary effect,
stirring up in the soul, poisoned by guilt, senti
ments of fury and revenge instead of contrition
and amendment. Lord Somertown was torn by

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 153

the recollection of the deeds of cruelty and in
justice, he had been guilty of; yet, instead of
wishing to atone for his guilt, or making restitu
tion to the injured parties as far as circumstances
would admit of, his malicious spirit panted to
commit more outrages, and although struggling
as it were in the agony of death, he seemed to
wish a prolongation of his life merely to use it
for the destruction of others.

His ear had convinced him that a being still
existed of whose death he had long thought
himself certain ; and the tempest of passions
that conviction awakened in his soul, gave energy
to his debilitated frame, and roused him from the
lethargy into which terror had plunged him,
when first the surprise assailed him.

" I will live," said the furious Earl, raising
himself in his bed with an energy that astonished
his attendants, " I will live, for I have much to
accomplish before I die."

Supported by the fervour which had seized his
mind, Lord Somertown was able to keep his ap
pointment the ensuing morning, with Col. Ross.
who felt a surprise bordering on incredulity, when
the man he had thought dying the preceding
evening, was introduced into his library, and he
beheld his erect carriage and ardent eye, in nei
ther of which remained a single vestige of indis
position.

" I feel both rejoiced and astonished /'exclaim
ed the Colonel, as he placed his noble visitor in
an arm chair, " to see your Lordship, so won
derfully recovered from the illness that alarmed
us all so greatly last night."

" Weak minds," replied his Lordship, " are
apt to yield to the slightest stroke of sickness,
but mine is not cast in that mould, Colonel. The
business which has brought me hither, is impor
tant to the dignity of my family, and forcible in-

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

deed must have been that power which could
have tempted me to defer it. Your high chara-
ter for politeness, Colonel, induces me to hope
that you will give me the information I require,
and, perhaps, subsequent circumstances may in
duce you to lend your assistance to the forward
ing of my views in an affair of much moment.'"

The Colonel bowed, and Lord Somertown pro
ceeded : " You have a girl under your care who
is a perfect enigma : would you, Sir, inform me
who she really is ?"

" That is not in my power, my Lord," replied
Col. Ross, " my ignorance on that subject is as
profound as your Lordship's."

"Astonishing!'" rejoined Lord Somertown; "is
not L:idy Maria better informed ?"

" I assure your Lordship with truth," said the
Colonel, " that neither Maria nor myself know
the least tittle concerning the person you allude
to, excepting that she is a foundling, and is called
Fanny. ^jUie has no surname, nor do I believe the
poor girrfilLany wiser on this subject than our
selves." ^&

" If it be not impertinent," said Lord Somer
town, " may 1 ask what motive could induce peo
ple of rank, like Col. Ross and Lady Maria, to
make a person so obscure the inmate of their house,
and to introduce her in parties where her doubtful
origin must be a source of pain to herself, and re
sentment to those who feel their dignity insulted
by having such a person obtruding upon them.
But, perhaps, the romantic spirit of these navel-
reading times suggested the probability that the
girl might be some Princess in disguise, fled from
Ker persecutors, to take refuge in a land of bene
volence and philanthropy.*'

** Indeed !" replied Colonel Ross, " we never
gaveourselves the trouble of conjecturing who the
girl might be, but merely took her under our care

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

zrf the request of Lady Dowager Ellincourt, who
is a relation and very intimate friend of my wife's."

" Lady Dowager Ellincourt! repeated Lord
Somertown, and his lip quivered with stilled rage.
" If she be an elece of Lady Ellincourt's, there is
everything to be expected from her which intrigue
and artifice can accomplish. I mortally hate that
woman !" continued nis Lordship, knitting his
brow, "and the babbling fool her son is even more
intolerable than herself; but this has nothing to
do with the business before us. Are you aware
Colonel, of the mischief your mistaken condescen
sion to this beggar's brat has occasioned ?"

" No, my Lord," replied Colonel Ross, " I
never yet supposed her of consequence enough to-
become the source of mischief to any one ; unless
indeed," added he, smiling, " the witchery of her
beauty has enslaved your lordship, the girl is cer
tainly a lovely creature !"

Lord Somertown's eyes struck fire, — " You do
not mean to insult me, Colonel, I hope," said he.

" Simple badinage, I assure your Lordship," re
plied the Colonel, laying his hand upon his heart ;
" but I beseech your Lordship to inform me what
crime poor Fanny has committed ?"

" In the first place she has formed an intimacy
with Miss Stanhope," replied Lord Somertown,
" which 1 deem an intolerable degradation to that
young lady ; and, in the next, acting with the con
summate art which those low people generally pos
sess, she has insinuated herself into the favour of
my half-witted nephew, who, dazzled with the
beauty you extolled so highly, and bewitched by
the artful blandishments of the sorceress, fancies
himself desperately in love with her ; so much so,
that forgetful of his eno-ao-ements to Miss Stan-

. c? " C*

hope, and the dignity of his own rank, he is at this
moment planning a scheme to run away with arid
marry this young adventuress. I have this infor-

156 FATHERLESS FANNY; OH,

mat-ion from the most unquestionable authority,
confirmed by my own observation."

Colonel Ross was thunder-struck when he heard
Lord Somertown delare that the Duke of Albe-
marle intended to marry Fanny. Heli'dd observed
the Duke's attentions to the object of his own de
signs, but an idea of marriage had never entered
his imagination ; the cold disdain which the coun
tenance of Fanny uniformly displayed whenever
the Duke addressed her, in company, had thrown
Colonel Ross off his guard, and lulled his fears

~ 7

to sleep. He seemed now to awaken to a sudden
sense of his danger, and his rage was little in
ferior to Lord Somertown's, as the conviction
darted through his mind.

" Consummate hypocrite I" exclaimed he,
" so young and so artful ! the coolness with which
she always appeared to treat the Duke, made
me believe his Grace's overtures were of a differ
ent nature."

"T rejoice," said Lord Somertown, "that Col.
Ross appears to see this affair in the same atroci
ous light that I do. Nothing surely is so unpar
donable as when a low person, like that girl,
takes advantage of the kindness shewn her by
persons of a superior rank, to steal into a noble
family, and for ever tarnish the honour of it by
so unequal a match. Good heavens ! the Duke
of Albemarle to marry a foundling ! a girl with
out a name !"

" Horrid indeed 1" exclaimed Col. Ross, whose
objections to the union sprung from a very differ
ent cause to what Lord Somertown imagined.

" Your feelings, Col. are so consonant to mine,
upon this subject/' said his lordship, " that I
Hatter myself you will not refuse your aid in pre
venting so fatal a termination of my hopes as this
ill-assorted marriage."

" Your lordship may command me," replied

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 15?

Col. Ross, " there is nothing that I would not do
to prevent it.

Lord Somertown shook the Colonel by the
hand — " My good friend," said his lordship,
" this ready compliance exceeds my hopes. I
will now lay aside all reserve, and you and I will
presently understand each other I am sure."

Lord Somertown was right : Col. Ross was not
one of the scrupulous sort, when he had any self-
gratification in view, and as Lord Somertown's
proposals all appeared calculated to further his
own wishes, he started no objection to the diabo
lical scheme his Lordship laid before him. What
that scheme was will appear hereafter, for the
consultation was interrupted by the appearance
of a servant, who announced the arrival of a
visitor.

" Mr. Hamilton," said he, " requests the fa
vour of a few minutes conference, Sir," said the
servant, bowing, " he is waiting in the breakfast
room."

" Hamilton ! Hamilton !" repeated the Colo
nel, " I don't know him ; why didn't you say I was
^engaged ?"

" 1 did, Sir, but he would not be denied. He
said he knew you were at home, because Lord
Somertown's carriage was waiting at the door,
and he heard his lordship make an appointment
with you at the concert last night."

" Oh," said the Colonel, " then it must be
the rich Hamilton, for he was there last night, 1
was told : but I don't know him when I see him :
so what he can want of me 1 cannot conceive."

" Mr. Hamilton asked if Miss Fanny was at
home, first," said the servant, " and when 1 told
him she was on a visit at the Marquis of Peters-
field's, he gave his name, and desired to
you. Sir ?"

158 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" Very well," replied the Colonel ; « tell Mr.
Hamilton I will wait upon him immediately.'*

The servant withdrew.

"I think we may make some use of this cir
cumstance," said Lord Somertown. (< This is
some lover of that artful girl's."

" Perhaps so, indeed," answered Colonel Ross,
reddening, for he hated to hear of any lover for
Fanny ; " does your lordship know Mr. Hamil
ton ? he seems to know you."

" That may be very possible," replied Lord
Somertown, answering the Colonel's last observa
tion, i( many people know me, of whom I have
not the most distant knowledge; this Hamilton
is one of them. He may be a rich man, but he
is certainly not a man of consequence, for I never
heard of him before."

Lord Somertown now ordered his chariot, and
taking leave of the Colonel, he said, " Remem
ber your promise, and command me in what way
you choose."

" Your lordship need not fear," answered his
base associate, " I am too much interested in the
event, to be lukewarm in the cause,"

Lord Somertown nodded assent, and proceeded
to his carriage. He readily believed the Colonel's
assertion that he was interested in the event, be
cause he had promised him a borough, for which
honour he had long been sighing.

Colonel Ross was a deep politician, and a strong
party man ; there was enough, therefore, in the
promise to awaken his energy. But his lordship
knew not the most powerful stimulus to the
base action he had undertaken ; he knew not
that, urged by a brutal passion, which accord
ing to the jargon of modern depravity, he
dignified with the name of love, this pretended
patriot was secretly rejoicing that an opportunity

TUB LITTLE MENDICANT.

offered of uniting in the same cause, his ambition
arid his inclination.

CHAPTER XVI.

A Proposal.

WHEN Colonel Ross entered the breakfast
room, he was struck with the noble appear
ance of the gentleman who was there waiting
for him, and a faint recollection of having once
seen him before, stole across his mind as he paid
his compliments to him.

Mr. Hamilton appeared to be about forty years
of age, or hardly so much, for there were traces
of suffering on his countenance that seemed to
tell a tale of sorrow rather than of years. His
features were beautiful, and the expression of
high spirit that sparkled in his dark eye, was
softened by the benevolence that mingled with
its vivid rays ; his brow was arched, and his nose
a perfect aquiline. His mouth, too, was calcu
lated to inspire his beholders with confidence ;
candour seemed to play upon his lips, and truth
herself, gave sanction to the sweet smile that
adorned them. I have always thought that fea
ture the most unerring index of the mind. Hea
ven has made it the organ by which we are in
tended to make our thoughts known to each
other: and although the exalted gift is fre
quently perverted, the portals through which the
speech must pass, remain faithful to the pur-

160 FATHKUtESS FAXNT ; OR,

pose of the heart that suggests it. Never did
the smile of artful blandishment or constrained
politeness wear the guise of truth. The words
that sound from the mouth may be false, but the
curve that marks the lip at their departure, is
true to the feeling that is either expressed or dis
guised by their utterance."

It was impossible to find a face formed with
more faultless grace than Mr. Hamilton's ; it dis
played the perfection of manly beauty, yet did
the shades of a deep melancholy sit on his pen
sive brow, and cloud his eye with sadness ; but it
was a melancholy that spoke of resignation and
fortitude, awakening sympathy, allied to respect,
in the hearts of his beholders.

The dignity with which he returned Colonel
Ross's compliments, seemed to be natural to him ;
and the urbanity of his manners convinced his host
that he must be noble as well as rich, although
Lord Somertown had pronounced him to be no
body, because not upon the list of his right ho
nourable acquaintances.

It might, perhaps, be the nobility of nature,
which is, it must be confessed, of more intrinsic
value than that conferred by hereditary rank.
Be that as it may, the Colonel felt so little doubt
of his guest's claim to respect, that he began an
elaborate apology for having kept him waiting so
long.

" It is I who ought to apologize for my intru
sion, Sir," replied Mr. Hamilton, with a benig
nant smile ; " but I trust, when you know the mo
tive that induced me to take such a liberty, you
Tvill be inclined to forgive me for it.

The Colonel bowed, and Mr. Hamilton pro
ceeded :

" You have a young lady under your protec
tion, Sir, for whom I feel an interest, it will be as
difficult for me to describe, as I already find it to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 161

comprehend the cause of, unless, indeed, it be the
resemblance she bears to a dear friend of mine,
long since numbered with the dead."

" Fanny has powerful attractions," said Col.
Ross, rather sarcastically, " and, I think, I can
understand the sort of interest she has excited in
your heart, Sir, without any far-fetched illustra
tion of so common an event."

The blush of resentment mantled on Mr. Ha
milton's cheek as he listened to the Colonel's
illiberal remark.

" Of Miss Fanny's attractions, excepting that
powerful one of innocent sweetness, that so pecu
liarly characterizes her countenance, / can have
but a very superficial knowledge," said Mr. Hamil
ton, indignantly — " Your suspicions, Sir, are pre
mature. I am not conie here in the character of
a lover, it is a title I disclaim. My heart is for
ever shut against the power of beauty ; my pas
sions are dead ; and philanthropy is the la*t
surviving feeling of my soul. Miss Fanny's fea
tures awakened the remembrance of a long lost
friend, and she became an object of almost inex
pressible interest to me. I enquired who she
was, and was informed that she is an orphan, and
dependant on the bounty of strangers. Whether
this tale be true or not, I cannot tell, and there
fore came to solicit the favour from you, Sir, of
further particulars concerning the young lady.
If you will inform me what her name is, and to
what family she is related, I shall consider myself
greatly your debtor, and will endeavour to forget
the too hasty judgment you formed of my inten
tions, which I now declare to be as pure as paren
tal kindness can dictate. This young lady pleases
me; she is poor, and i am rich; I am alone in the
world, without a single claim upon me for the in
heritance of the immense fortune I enjoy ; what
therefore, can I do more likely to conduce to my

162 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

own happiness, than to insure that of this child of
misfortune, by . . . '

"Marrying her, I suppose, Sir," interrupted
Colonel Ross, whose predilection in favour of Mr.
Hamilton at his first entrance, was now converted
into jealous hatred.

" I am astonished," exclaimed Mr. Hamilton,
" at your persisting in perverting my meaning,
Sir. I tell you I am not a lover: and I beg you
will attend to what I say, and endeavour to be
lieve it."

, " That would be an effort above me," replied
the Colonel; "1 must confess 1 am not so roman
tically given as very easily to believe, that a sober
middle-aged gentleman, like yourself, Mr. Ha
milton, whatever he may profess, would interest
himself about a pretty girl, like the one under my
protection, for the mere philanthropic gratifica
tion of disinterestedly providing for her. Under this
impression, I am constrained to tell you, Sir, that
your visits will be dispensed with at this house.

"You confess that you have no intention of
marrying Fanny: and as no other overtures can
be received by her guardians, all questions re
specting her, from you, Sir, will be deemed im
pertinent." As Colonel Ross spoke, he rose from
his chair and pulled a bell; a servant appeared.

" Mr. Hamilton's carriage," said he.

Mr. Hamilton rose indignantly, and darting
a look of contempt at the Colonel, " I have stoop
ed," said he, " to ask as a favour, what perhaps,
I ought rather to have demanded, as the cham
pion of oppressed innocence. I have marked you,
Colonel Ross, and 1 warn you to beware what you
do. We seldom suspect sinister designs in others,
unless we have cherished them ourselves."

" The application is good in your own case,
Sir," said the Colonel, and turned on his heel;
for there was a scrutiny in Mr. Hamilton's eye
that disconcerted him.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 163

Mr. Hamilton now withdrew ; and as he step
ped into his chariot, he vowed to devote himself
to the protection of the defenceless Fanny. Some
hints that had reached his ear in the course of
his enquiries respecting her, were now confirmed
by the Colonel's behaviour.

As soon as Mr. Hamilton was gone, Colonel
Ross returned to his study, in order to think over
without the probability of an interruption, the
best means that could be devised to prevent Fan
ny from being informed of Mr. Hamilton's de
signs in her favour.

The Colonel did not entertain a doubt that a
marriage was her new friend's ultimate view, al
though in the beginning of the affair he chose to
assume a more disinterested character. Of that
benevolence that delights in making others hap
py, without one selfish view in the action, Colo
nel Ross knew nothing ; the feelings of his heart,
if he had any, had been either stifled in there in
fancy, or called forth only for selfish — sensual
enjoyments.

He was the younger brother of an Earl, and
provided for by his father, as younger brothers
generally are in noble families. The meanness
allied to cunning, natural to his disposition, had
easily taught him to win upon his elder brother's
heart, by the blandishment of adulation, and ser
vile submission to his will. The artifice had suc
ceeded, and Lord Ballafyn had rewarded his
complaisant brother with a commission, and a
pretty estate, to support the dignity of the femi-
ly, in addition to what his father had left him.
His marriage with Lady Maria Trentham, had
increased his fortune, as she had thirty thousand
pounds more than her sisters, which had been
bequeathed her by her maternal grandfather.
But tell me when was the sordid mind satisfied ?

Colonel Ross was avaricious, and extremely

164 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

proud ; it was difficult to reconcile the opposite
propensities of these feelings ; as the demands
of his pride were severe taxes upon his meanness.
An opportunity now offered of gratifying all his
evil tendencies, and he felt the impulse irre
sistible.

Should Mr. Hamilton's generous intentions be
made known respecting Fanny, it might prevent
the execution of his scheme, and disappoint his
hopes of realizing both riches and power, by the
very act that would give him the uninterrupted
possession of the girl he had long secretly
sighed for.

Colonel Ross had a head formed for intrigue ;
he was not therefore long in his deliberations ;
but decided with a promptitude for which he had
often been praised by his partners in iniquity.

As soon as he saw his amiable lady, he inform
ed her of Mr. Hamilton's visit, but disguised the
motives of it, under the most daring falsehood.
He represented that gentleman's application to
himself as the nefarious trick of an abandoned
geducer, who, pleased with the pretty face of an
innocent inexperienced girl, wished to ensnare
her by a pretended show of friendship.

" He did not dare to avow his diabolical de-*
signs," said the Colonel, " because he feared I
should kick him out of my house : but, after
having offered to provide for the girl, out of the
ample fortune he possesses, he had the effrontery
to own, when pressed upon by my questions, that
he had no thoughts of marrying her.

" Good heavens !" exclaimed Lady Maria,
" can it be possible that any one can be so de
praved ? But how did you treat such a shocking
breach of decency ?"

" I was greatly incensed," replied the Colonel,
and " after forbidding; him the house, 1 run^ the

'

bell, and called for his carriage.''

THE LITTLE MENDl/CANT. 165

u Charming," said Lady Maria ; " and what
did he say to that ?"

" Oh, he sneaked off without resenting the af-

7 c^

front I had offered him. But, my dear Maria,
we must take double care of poor Fanny. I
wish she had finished her visit at the Marquis of
Petersfield's. This is a dangerous follow ; he is
certainly the handsomest man I ever saw, and ex
tremely fascinating ; and although he is past the
bloom of youth, he may be a formidable tempter,
to the inexperienced Fanny. 1 really think
it would be wise to take her into the country for
a little while. Should you have any objection
to visiting Pemberton Abbey for a few weeks.

" Oh, no ; I should like it of all things, if you
think it necessary/' said Lady Maria.

" It is necessary, you may be sure," replied
the Colonel. " Hamilton will leave no artifice
untried to entrap her, you may impend upon that :
and the poor girl will be lost before we are aware
of his design ; but you must not let Fanny sup
pose we leave town on her account, or it is a
hundred to one but it will make her unwilling
to go."

" Indeed," said Lady Maria, " you are mistak
en ; I am sure that reason would make her go
more readily ; you have now alarmed me so truly,
that I shall be as much on the watch as you are."

" Fanny is very beautiful ; and if such a man
as Mr. Hamilton can form such designs against
her, what has she not to fear from those of less
sober habits, who openly profess to admire her !"

" It is impossible to calculate," said the Colo
nel, " and therefore the sooner she goes into tho
country the better."

No. 8.

J6C FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

CHAPTER XVII.

A Tete-a-tete.

WHEN Lady Maria met Fanny in the course of
that day, she mentioned the circumstance of Mr.
Hamilton's visit, and her own, and Colonel Ross's
alarm upon the subject, adding, that it was their
decided opinion that her safety depended upon
her immediate removal into the country. " I will
accompany you, Fanny," said the good-natured
but weak minded Lady Maria, " for surely you
cannot object to go." " I have not the least ob
jection to leaving town," said Fanny, laughing,
" but really cannot see any necessity for so doing
on Mr. Hamilton's account; I am sure were I to
consult my own inclination, he is one of, the
last people 1 should wish to fly from : there is
something so fascinating in his manner, that I
feel to love without knowing him ; his voice is
persuasion itself, I could listen to it for ever."

(t Upon my honour, you astonish and frighten
me," said Lady Maria, "this must be a mostT dan
gerous man indeed. Why, my dear Fanny, you
have seen him only once, and he has absolutely
turned your head."

" 1 beg your ladyship's pardon," replied Fan
ny, " I have seen Mr. Hamilton twice, for he is
the very gentleman who rescued me from the
impertinence of the man in Hyde Park. 1 re
collected his voice the instant he spoke last night,
it seemed to thrill through my ^ery heart.'7

" It could not be the same person, my dear,"
answered Lady Maria, " or Colonel Ross would

THfi LITTLE MUSNDIG'ANT. 167

have remembered him, for you know he saw him."
" I know he did," rejoined Fanny, " but perhaps
he did not make such a strong impression upon
the Colonel's memory as he did upon mine : it is
impossible that /should ever forget him."

" Well, upon my honour, Fanny, you talk so
strangely, I cannot tell what to make of you; to
fall in love with a stranger, and then speak about
it as unconcerned as if there was nothing in it,
is so unlike your natural character, that I really
do not know my friend Fanny in the picture."

" I know very little about love," replied Fanny,
naively, " but I do not think what I feel for Mr.
Hamilton is what is generally understood by the
term falling in love. I cannot be said to love a
person that I do not know. I am unacquainted
with a single virtue that may adorn Mr. Hamil
ton ; I am equally ignorant whether his character
is not tarnished by some vice that would disgust
me were it known to me. Esteem is therefore
impossible, and love hi my heart cannot exist
without it ; yet am I irresistibly drawn as it were
by a secret instinct which I can neither account
for nor describe, to feel interested for this gentle
man, beyond what I ever before experienced for
any mortal."

" Depend upon it, my dear," said Lady Maria,
" this man has used some unfair means to engage
your affections. I have heard there are charms
that will take such effect as to render it impossi
ble to escape their witchcraft, and your descrip
tion of your unaccountable partiality for Mr. Ha
milton, convinces me that you are under the in
fluence of some demoniac conjuration."

" Surely, my dear Lady Maria," said Fanny,
u you cannot be weak enough to believe in witch
craft ? I cannot help laughing at such a prepos
terous idea."

" You may laugh, if you please," answered

F A T H ii H L Ji S S FA X X V ; O R ,

Lady Maria, " but I shall lose no time in taking
you out of town. I vow I shall expect to see you
carried away in a whirlwind, or conveyed up the
chimney, if you remain within the circle pf this
vile necromancer any longer."

" Nay, my deSr friend," replied Fanny, " if
such be indeed your creed, a removal into the
country will avail me but little, a genii so pow
erful can surely find me in the most sequestered
retreaf ; I am nevertheless ready to accompany
your ladyship at the shortest notice."

When Miss Stanhope was informed of Lady
Maria's sudden determination to quit London,
and take Fanny with her, she expressed the most
violent discontent ; it was impossible any longer
to carry on the cheat that had hitherto puzzled
the Duke, for he had more than once entertained
doubts as to the perfect truth of the story which
he had first implicitly believed.

'* What can be the meaning of this unaccount
able whim," said that young lady to Fanny, "is
Lady Maria light-headed, or has the Colonel
some intrigue upon his hands, that he cannot
carry on so well while his wife is in town, for I
imagine he is not to make one in this Quixotic
expedition ?"

" I really do not know," answered Fanny, " for
nothing has been explained to me, excepting
what 1 have told you, that Colonel Ross has
taken it in his head that Mr. Hamilton is a conju
ror, and that I shall be conveyed to some en
chanted castle by a touch of bis wand, unless 1
am immediately removed into the country, Lady
Maria is a convert of the same opinion, and the
result is, I must go into the country."

"Well, my dear," answered Miss Stanhope,
" If 1 were you I would please these two fools ; I
would £0 into the country, but it should not be
where they please, but where I liked myself; I

THE LITTLE MJiSDlCANT. 169

will explain myself more fully this evening, if
you will come into my dressing room as soon as
we leave the dining parlour. It will be your own
fault if you do not shew them that you under
stand conjuration as well as they, and know how
to get into an enchanted castle, without the as
sistance of Mr. Hamilton."

Fanny looked surprised. — "• What do you
mean, Amelia ?" said she.

" A riddle you cannot comprehend yet," re
plied Miss Stanhope, " but I tell you it shall be
explained to you in the evening ; one thing, how
ever, I will tell you. On the accomplishment of
the scheme comprised in that riddle, depends my
future happiness." ,.

Fanny in vain entreated Miss Stanhope to ex
plain herself more fully : she would nat do it.

" Where is it they are going to take you to,
Fanny?" said she, not noticing the questions
which had just been asked her.

" Into Yorkshire," replied her friend, " Lady
Elliricourt gave Colonel Ross and Lady Maria
permission to make use of her seat there when
ever they found it agreeable ; and I assure you I
shall feel great pleasure in revisiting a place
where I have spent so many happy days."

" Why, Pemberton Abbey is an odd place to
take you to, if they are afraid of Mr. Hamilton.
He has a large estate that joins Lady Ellincourt's,
which, you know, together with the mansion, was
purchased of the gentleman who left the fortune
to the Conjuror, as your wise ones call Mr. Ha
milton. Apropos, you say he was your champion
in Hyde Park, when you were attacked by the
* Dragon of Wrantley.' Do you think him hand
some ?"

" The handsomest man I ever saw," answered
Fanny.

" Hush, my dear ; you forget you have seen the

170

FATHSRLKSS FANNY ; OK,

Duke of Albemarle. You surely do not think
Mr. Hamilton to be compared with the Duke."

" I don't expect you should think so," replied
Fanny ; " but you may allow me to prefer Mr.
Hamilton to the Duke."

" Prefer him ! Why, certainly, you do not like
Mr. Hamilton best. I shall believe in the con
juration scheme if you say yes,'' interrupted Miss
Stanhope.

" Nay, as to liking either," answered Fanny,
" I am not well enough acquainted with them to
warrant such an expression ; but I certainly
know which interests me most."

"And pray let us hear who that happy creature
is," said Amelia.

" Mr. Hamilton, beyond all comparison,'' re
joined Fanny ; " and yet I know not why it is so."

" Sorcery and witchcraft !" exclaimed Amelia.
" Lady Maria is right ! Why, my dear, he is an
old man compared to you. For heaven's sake
don't fall in love with an old man.

" I am not in love," answered Fanny, pettishly :
" I hate that word. I tell you, Amelia, I would
not marry Mr. Hamilton, if he was an Emperor.

" Marry him, indeed! No, I hope you would
not think of marrying a man who is old enough
to be your father/'

" My father!" ejaculated Fanny ; " sweet
words ! How does my orphan heart pant to hail
that honoured name! Oh, that I had a father!
That Mr. Hamilton was my father !"

" Now that's a good girl," said Miss Stanhope,
<f that's an excellent thought. I dare say Mr.
Hamilton is your father ; and that accounts for
the wonderful sympathy between you. You are
a foundling you know."

(< But Mr. Hamilton is a Creole, is he not ?"
said Fanny, " who caught early at the suggestion
so lightly made by her giddy friend. " Mr.

THli klTTLfl MENDICANT. 171

Hamilton is a Creole, and never was in England
till now."

" Oh, never mind that,'' rejoined Amelia," in
consistencies are nothing in a novel. You were
sent over in a hamper to be educated in England ;
and then he forgot to enquire where they had
placed you, and so you came to be lost."

Fanny's countenance fell when she perceived,
by this speech, that Miss Stanhope had no serious
idea of the probability she had suggested.
" Alas I" thought she, " Amelia is surrounded
by affluence, and feels not as I do, the mortify
ing circumstances of dependance. She is an or
phan, but" not an indigent one. It is not, how
ever, Mr. Hamilton's riches 1 sigh for ; the sacred
title of father would be equally dear to my heart
if accompanied by poverty. To be hailed
by the endearing name of child ; to be pressed
to the paternal bosom of a virtuous parent, and
find within the circle of a father's arms, a safe
asylum from the persecutions of a cruel world.
This is what I wish for, and gladly would I em
brace obscurity and indigence, were those the
terms on which alone I could obtain that fondly
wished for blessing?"

" I dare say it would be mighty pathetic"
said Amelia, " if one could read all that is pass
ing in that serious head, just now. But cheer
up, child ; the naughty conjurors shall not have
you, nor the anti-conjurors either, for I mean to
dispose of you myself, in the prettiest way ima
ginable. Your romantic story shall have such
acharming termination, that all the booksellers
shall be giving it to the novel-writers for a sub
ject. I intend writing a poem on it myself. I
shall choose Scott's .style ; that irregular metre
will suit my whimsical fancy exactly."

" It is a happy thing," said Fanny, with a sigh,
" that you have got me for a butt"

172 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" Nay my dear," said Miss Stanhope, " it
\vill be your turn soon ; and then if you don't
make a butt of me it will be your o>vn fault. But
there is the first bell ; make haste to your toilet ;
and if you are not of Thomson's opinion on the
subject of unadorned beauty, make yourself as
killing as possible. Your good looks will not be
wasted."

" Who is coming to dine here?" asked Fanny.

" Several gentlemen, and perhaps Mr. Ha
milton."

" Pho ?" cried Fanny, "you only say that to
tease me*"1

" Upon my honour I should not feel at all
surprised," replied Miss Stanhope ; " for I
heard Lord Cheviotdale praising Mr. Hamilton
to the Marquis; and the latter said he would
get acquainted with him ; and should that be
the case, I will ask him to give you away when
you are married, and then he will be your
father."

"Giddy girl!" exclaimed Fanny, as she left
the room. " Will there ever come a time that
you will be serious ?"

" Oh yes, my dear ; when I am married."

CHAPTER XVIH.

A Dilemma.

When Fanny entered the dining parlour, the
company were just seating themselves; for her
long conversation with Amelia had made her too
l&te at her toilet.

THE LITTLE AIRNDIGANT. 173

The Duke of Albemarle took her hand as she
approached the table, and led her to the chair
next Miss Stanhope's, and immediately seated
himself beside her.

" Your lovely friend," said his Grace, address
ing Fanny in a low voice, " has given me permis
sion to assume the character of your Cicesbeo.
Tell me, Madam, has that grant your sanction?"

" It is an honour to which 1 am by no means
entitled," replied Fanny, blushing excessively.

" It will confer an honour upon me," rejoined
the Duke, " more highly valued than any other
can he. Say then, lovely Miss Stanhope, that
you do not forbid the presumption."

" Your Grace mistakes the person you are
speaking to," replied Fanny, " and renders my si
tuation distressing beyond expression."

" Heaven forbid," exclaimed the Duke, " I will
be silent now; but the moment approaches which
must dissipate this cloud of error."

The whole of this conversation had passed in a
whisper, and unheard by the surrounding guests ;
but the Duke's marked attention to Fanny, had
not passed unnoticed by several ladies who sat
near the Marchioness, and who observed, " that
it really was too bad to beg'mflirting before mar
riage, close to his bride's elbow too. But, no
doubt, the forwardness of the girl was the cause
of such strange behaviour. Poor Fanny in the
mean time sat the very picture of confusion and
embarrassment, totally at a loss to understand the
Duke's enigmatical address to her.

^^

She waited the moment of withdrawing; from ta
ble, with an impatience so painfully exquisite,
that she could not command presence of mind
enough to reply collectively to the little no
things which were said to her by the ephemera
about her.

Miss Stanhope, with her usual giddiness, cn-

8 z

174 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

joyed her confusion, and added considerably to it
!}y remarking to the Duke, " that she really be
lieved he was an arrant thief."

" A thief!" re-echoed his Grace: " pray ma'am
explain yourself."

" Nay, appearances are strong against your
Grace, I assure you. Fanny was in full possession
of all her faculties about ten minutes before she
entered this room, and it is plain she has lost her
recollection, and the use of her tongue, since she
sat by you ; what, therefore, can be inferred, but
that you have stolen them?"

Before the Duke could reply to this mad speech,
the Marchioness rose to quit the table, and Fan
ny was released from her uncomfortable situation.

On retiring to the drawing room, Miss Stan
hope reminded Fanny of her engagement.

" Come," said she, offering her arm, " you know
we have an explanation. I thought you would be
dying for it, I did not expect to be obliged to re
mind you of it."

" Indeed," replied Fanny, " you talk to me in
such a wild strain, that I place no confidence in
any thing you say."

" Thank you my dear, you are vastly polite, I
must confess, nevertheless I excuse you, because
I can feel for you just now ; there does appear
a mystery, certainly."

By this time they had reached Miss Stanhope's
dressing room, which had been fitted up for the
reception of her morning visitors, and was an
elegant apartment on the first floor, with folding
doors, that opened upon a terrace in the gardens
of Petersfield House. The weather being warm,
these doors were thrown open, and Amelia seated
herself upon a sopha that stood on the outside,
and placing Fanny beside, her, began her pro
mised explanation in the following words:

" I know," said she, " what you will say to

THE LITTLE .MENDICANT. 175

me for the prank I have played you ; but an I
lose a lover, and you gain a coronet by it, I think
you have not much cause to be angry. In the
first place, then, I must tell you, that I never
could endure the idea of marrying the Duke of
Albemarlefrom the first time I ever heard the alli
ance talked of, and that is as long ago as I can
remember any thing. An antipathy so deeply
rooted, and of such long stand ing, is not easily con
quered, and I have always been beating my Drains
to imagine some quaint device to get rid of the
match, and yet preserve my fortune, which 1 had
always been told mu,st be the forfeit of my refu
sal of the Duke's hand. My imagination was not
however, sufficiently fertile to supply any scheme
that appeared practicable, until the lucky hour in
which your accident introduced you to my in
tended husband ; he saw and admired you, and I
was sufficiently clear-sighted to penetrate the
secret in an instant, and with the abilitv of a skil
ful general, I lost no time in arranging my plan
of attack, and so scientifically did I manoeuvre,
that 1 made you both prisoners without your
even suspecting an ambush ; 1 should feel more
vain of my skill in tactics if it were not for this
one recollection. 1 believe my wits had been
sharpened a little while before, by a discovery
that made prompt measures indispensable. I had
found out that I not only detested the idea of mar
rying the Duke, but that there was a being in ex
istence for whom I felt no such antipathy, and
whose wife I had rather be than the empress of the
modern Alexander himself; my fortune \vas now
become of greater value in my eyes, because I
thought it would be acceptable to the man of my
choice, and I determined, if possible, to make the
Duke the transgressor, and thus insure the pos
session of it to him.

The scheme succeeded beyond my expectations,

176 FATHERLESS FA.NMT ; OK,

more, I believe, owing to the love-sick blindness
of the Duke, than any great ingenuity of mine.
I know the world well enough, inexperienced as
I am, to feel sure that my fortune, and the en
gagement that seemed to exist between the Duke
of Albemarle and myself, would act as powerful
checks to the encouragement of a mere romantic
passion, conceived in the warmth of youthful ef
fervescence ; that the Duke should admire you,
nay, absolutely love you, I knew^to be both pos
sible, and even likely to happen ; but that he
should fly in the face of prudence, and determine
to fight the Son of Grumbo, his uncle, to obtain
you, I thought sather to be wished than attained ;
I therefore laid a trap for his prudence, and
baited it with a savory scrap of plausibility, and
had soon the unspeakable satisfaction of seeing
my silly mouse caught, beyond the possibility of
an escape. I made up a serious face, the first
time we met after the accident, and assured him
with great shew of truth that you were Miss Stan
hope, and that you had prevailed upon me to as
sume your name and character, under the roman
tic hope of obtaining his Grace's affections for
the sake of pure merit and disinterested love ; I
added, that Lord Somertown/was a party in the
trick, and that nothing would please his uncle
so well as to see him take notice of the real heir
ess, in her disguise, although his outward car
riage would imply resentment. Perhaps had the
Duke been less enamoured, he would have been
more clear-sighted ; be that as it may, he was
caught by the artifice, and believed every thing
I said ; you being here, on a visit, favoured the
deceit, and the consequence is, that the poor
swain is too far gone in the tender passion to re
cede, although he is informed that he has an
explanation to expect that will place the disin
terestedness of his passion at issue. We shall

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 177

see how he will behave, when I confess the whole
trick. If he continues faithful, 1 shall esteem
him; if otherwise, I "shall despise, and will take
care to be even with him."

CHAPTER XIX.

Astonishment.

"You have elucidated a mystery," said Fanny,
that has tormented me a long time; but I can
not say you have done it in a satisfactory man
ner. Your artifice can answer no purpose
whatever but to exasperate your guardians, dis
gust the Duke, and render me ridiculous, or
even more than ridiculous ; for it will be sup
posed that I had some part in the plot; and
rest assured if that be the case, it will make
me more wretched than any other circumstance
possibly could."

" Never fear, my dear Fanny," replied Miss
Stanhope, "the Duke is too far gone to think
about prudence now ; I have watched him and
1 am sure he would as soon part with his life as
with the hope of marrying you. As I said be
fore, had he known who you were at first, he
might have consulted prudence, and avoided the
society of a person so dangerous to his peace ;
but now it is too late; he has had frequent oppor
tunities of observing that your beauty is the least
part of your powers of pleasing ; and he has ex-

178 FATHUULUSS FANNY; OK,

pressed himself to me in rapturous terms of those
mental charms that are to form the happiness of
his future life, when he is united to * the most
lovely of women.' Those are his own words.
When people have imagined the Duke was mak
ing love to me, he was entertaining me with your
praises, little Madam. Am 1 not a good girl to
listen to them without envy? and from the mouth
of a lover too !"

"You have done me an irreparable injury,"
replied Fanny, " by making me act a part in this
drama, although without my concurrence."

"How so," asked Miss Stanhope: "surely i.t
is no injury to lay a plan for making you a
Duchess?"

" You do not think becoming the Duchess of
Albemarle comprises much happiness," said Fan
ny, "or you would not reject the offer yourself."
" You are pleased to be sharp upon me," an
swered her friend, " but you ought to recollect,
my dear, that /don't like the Duke "

" Neither do I," rejoined Fanny. " By your
own confession, you acknowledge that had his
Grace supposed me to be the portionless crea
ture I am, his prudence would have taught him
to avoid me : and yet you suppose me mean
enough to take advantage of the infatuation of
his senses, which by the bye, I don't believe in,
and become a Duchess at the ex pence of my de
licacy."

" Your silly scruples about delicacy arid non
sense will ruin every thing," said Miss Stan
hope, in an angry tone," these high-ilown roman
tic notions do very well in the heroine of a no
vel, but positively they have not common sense
in the straight forward every day occurrences of
life; surely to a girl who has no dependa^e but
on the bounty of her friends, the opportunity of
marrying so advantageously ought not to be
slighted."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

179

" Your ideas and mine are very different upon
this subject," replied Fanny, indignantly, " noth-
•jng ought to be considered advantageous to a
woman that militates against her delicacy, and
poor and dependant as I am, I would not abate
one single grain of that nice feeling to become
an empress ; these are my sentiments, and I
trust now you know them, you will at least res
pect me so far as to forbear mentioning the sub
ject to me any more."

" I have done," replied Miss Stanhope, laugh
ing, "but here comes one to whom the inter
diction does not extend, I hope."

As she spoke, the Duke of Albemarle entered
from the garden.

"I am punctual," said he, looking at his
watch, and addressing Miss Stanhope, "tell me
my charming friend, that I am welcome!"

" To me, most welcome," replied she : " but
for that young lady, (pointing to Fanny,) I can
not answer so well as I flattered myself I
could."

" The visit of the Duke of Albemarle to Miss
Stanhope, can want no concurrence of mine,"
said Fanny, " T will therefore retire."

The Duke seized both Fanny's hands, as she
rose from her chair, and made a motion to go.

" No, by heavens!" said he. " I have suffered
suspence too long ; you shall not now leave me,
lovely incomprehensible, until an explanation
has taken place between us."

" That is right," said Miss Stanhope, " she has

forbidden me to speak to her again upon the

subject, but your Grace is a privileged person."

" Would to heaven I were so," rejoined the

Duke. .

" ¥*nf? Grace requires an explanation of me,"
said Fa"nny, blushing," whilst I am unconscious
how it'is possible that 1 should have one to give

1HO FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

you ; there has been nothing mysterious in any
part of my conduct since I have had the honour
of being known to your Grace."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the Duke, turn
ing to Miss Stanhope, " what can this mean ?"

"In pity to you both," replied that giddy
girl, " I will do more than the laws of the land
require of any body, i. e. I will accuse myself."
She then recapitulated the particulars relating
to her plot already known, adding with a laugh,
" like all other busy bodies, I have got myself
into the worst scrape after all, and am likely to
be thanked by nobody at last ; for if your Grace
be but as angry with me as my friend Fanny, I
have made a blessed piece of work of it indeed !"

" I must express my concern," said the Duke,
" that Miss Stanhope should have so far mis
taken my character, as to suppose any deceit ne
cessary to induce me to act towards her with the
liberality she is so justly entitled to. Had I
been aware of your plot, it would have saved me
much pain, as I should not have told my uncle
that Miss Stanhope was the choice of my heart,
and the arbitress of my happiness? this lady,"
turning to Fanny, " has made it impossible for
me to offer to any other woman the heart which
is her's alone, and which henceforward depends
for happiness upon her acceptance or refusal of
its devotion ; but you, Miss Stanhope, who know
Lord Somertown so well, must be aware how diffi
cult you have rendered the task of breaking to
him, a circumstance so opposite to his views and
wishes, and of which he has not the most distant
suspicion."

"On my account, my Lord," said Fanny, "I trust
you will not incur any displeasure from your uncle,
since, however highly honoured by your Grace's
notice, I am so circumstanced, that it is utterly
impossible for me to listen to your addresses; my

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 181

presence here is no longer necessary, as the mys
tery of which you complained has been unrav
elled ; and if you entertained any doubt of my sen
timents, I trust they are for ever removed." So
saying, without giving the Duke time to answer
her, and before Miss Stanhope was aware of her
intentions, Fanny darted out of the room, and left
her two auditors in a frame of mind not very
agreeable to themselves.

CHAPTER XX.

Reparation.

" WHAT an unaccountable creature that girl is,"
exclaimed Miss Stanhope, as Fanny left the room,
"who would have supposed a dependant creature
like her, possessed such a lofty spirit."

" I should," replied the Duke, " and if you had
thought me worthy of your confidence, Miss Stan
hope, i would have shewn you the fallacy of such
an experiment with a girl like Fanny. Good hea
ven ! that I should only be made acquainted with
her worth, to lament the impossibility of possess
ing her. You have ruined me, Amelia ; for ever
destroyed my peace of mind, and exposed me to
the vindictive spirit of Lord Somertown, without
obtaining one advantage yourself; had you can
didly told me at our first, meeting, that you were
averse to the alliance, I should not have led my
uncle into the error that will render his wrath a
thousand times more fierce when he finds that he
has been deceived. And who knows, perhaps the
lovely and innocent object of my affection may
be the sacrifice first immolated upon the altar of

* 2 A

182 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

revenge. Alas! I know my uncle too well to trust
him with the fatal secret, unless I were willing to
devote the lovely Fanny to the dire consequences
of his resentment.''

" Upon my honour, you frighten me," said Miss
Stanhope, turning pale, " what a fool I am, I
will never attempt scheming again ; well, I will
do all I can to repair the injury; the secret must
be faithfully kept, and trust to me for the de
nouement, it shall he a happy one; that is, unless
Fanny be perverse."

" Forgive me," said the Duke, " but you have
shewn yourself so unskilful at plotting, that I do
not like to trust you without knowing what your
intentions are, for if the secret be kept, and every
thing go on, as usual, I see no possibility of avoid
ing the worst of all denouements — our ill-starred
nuptials."

" Well to be sure, you are the politest creature
that ever lived, to tell a lady to her face that the
worst thing that could beta! you, would be to
marry her ; but I must take it for my pains, for I
have deserved it, so now I will retaliate, that is'
the only satisfaction left me. There cannot exist a
greater antipathy on your side to the alliance than
that cherished in my heart, an antipathy which is
strengthened and increased by an attachment to
another person ; it was the hope of making you
the aggressor, in breaking off the treaty of mar
riage that led me to the stratagem which has so
completely failed; as thereby I hoped to escape
the penalty attached to the delinquency, not
that I intended to take the forfeit money
from you, but merely to save my own ; this
mercenary view induced me to quit the path of
truth, and wander in the trackless maze of cun
ning ; but now I renounce the paltry scheme,
and regardless of fortune, or any other consider
ation, have resolved to make reparation for the

THE LITTLK MENDICANT. 183

•

error I have committed ; leave it therefore to me,
and fearlessly pursue your accustomed attention,
and proceed with the preparations for our ex
pected nuptials, / will take care to render them
impossible, and to free you from the shadow of
blame, I will not tell you my. plan, because I
have set my heart upon a surprise ; but I repeat,
you may safely trust me ; I am now treading in
the plain open path of generosity, of honour, and
can say with truth, that [ am now en pays de
connoissancc, it was only in the region of cun
ning that I lost myself, forthere\ was a stranger."

" I will trust you," said the Duke, " although
you have so cruelly misled me, for it is impossible
to doubt the candid tale you tell; but remein-
her, I will not dishonour my name or be stigma
tized with the imputation of dishonourable deal
ing, therefore, if I follow your directions, and go
on with the appearance of a courtship, our
marriage is inevitable, unless you prevent it, for
J will not act like a scoundrel though death
should be the alternative."

" Fear me not," answered Amelia, " here is
my hand as a pledge of my fidelity ; I will not
foil you, but lest the slightest idea of collusion
should attach to you, from this minute we drop
the subject, until it be finally decided ; so now
go about your business, and 1 will seek Fanny,
and try to soothe her ruffled spirit. She is a
haughty little puss : I believe her heart is lined
withT buckram."

" Do not .irritate her feelings, I entreat you,"
said the Duke, " she is exquisitely sensitive;
and should she imbibe an idea that I presumed
upon the knowledge of her dependant situation,
she will be lost for ever to me. You owe me this
complaisance, my dear Miss Stanhope, for you
have placed my happiness upon a balance."

u I will attend to what you say," answered
Amelia, " therefore make vourself easv."

7 v «

181 FATHERLESS FAN.VY; OR,

The Duke now retired, and Amelia went to
look for Fanny. She found her in her own
apartment, whither she had iled when she quitted
Miss Stanhope's dressing-room. A torrent of
tears had relieved the oppressed feelings of her
heart, and she was now more composed.

Fanny's spirit was naturally noble, and rose
superior to the dependance of her situation.
Whilst under the protection of Lady Ellincourt,
she had not felt the mortifications to which her
ladyship's absence had now so painfully exposed
her. Instead, however, of becoming servile, or
endeavouring; to conciliate the regards of her

• i

haughty companions, by that unvarying com
plaisance which generally distinguishes the
humble companion. ' Fanny had become more
reserved, and assumed an air of dignity, which
consciousness of innate worth could alone have
supported. The Duke of Albemarle had ap
peared in her eyes exactly that sort, of man she
would have chosen had she been entitled by rank
or fortune to encourage his addresses; yet not
withstanding this predilection in his favour, she
had persevered in receiving his attentions with a
degree of coldness that would have convinced
him she was entirely averse to him, had he not
been encouraged to persist by Miss Stanhope's
assurances, that it was merely the effect of a ro
mantic determination to prove the sincerity of his
passion to the utmost; the discovery of the de
ceit that had been practised under the sanction
of her name, gave Fanny the most poignant re-

fret, as the same delicate spirit that had made
er veil her real sentiments, under the appear
ance of indifference, whilst uncertain of his inten
tions, now sternly forbade, the humiliation of
marrying, clandestinely, the man, who had been
led to suppose, she had laid a trap to ensnare his
affections, and whose superiority of rank and for-

THE LlfTLE MENDICANT. 185

tune might fully justify, a suspicion, that ambition
was the chief inducement.

"Never!" said the noble-minded girl, as she
quitted Miss Stanhope's apartment. " Never
could I receive the addresses of a man whose
confidence in my integrity has been destroyed
by the implication of artifice upon my character;
no, generous Albemarle, I can now never listen to
your vows, and although my heart overflows with
grateful tenderness for the partiality you have
honoured me with, the die is cast, and T can ne
ver be yours ; doomed to conceal within the
aching boundary of my own bosom the sorrow
that consumes me, 1 shall gladly retire into the
country, where at least the restraint that now
holds every feature in bondage may be dispensed
with, and I may weep unquestioned and alone !"

Such was the soliloquy that had employed the
mind of Fanny, before Amelia came to disturb
her. The lively girl began to rally her pen
sive friend with her usual vivacity, and made
use of every argument her ingenuity could sup
ply her with, to prove that she ought to receive
the Duke's addresses with complacency, although
she could not deny that for the present at least
those addresses must be clandestine.

" Enough, my dear Amelia," interrupted Fan
ny, "that single proposition overturns your argu
ment ; nothing clandestine can be right, this ex
cellent maxim I owe to my beloved, my lamented
Lady Ellincourt — I say lamented, because some
secret intelligence seems to assure me that I shall
see her no more. If the Duke is ashamed to 'ac
knowledge me as the object of his choice, I should
be equally ashamed to be a party in so mean a con
nection ; nothing surely can degrade a woman
more than receiving the clandestine addresses of
a lover ; and if he be greatly her superior, she in
curs the odium of imposing upon his weakness.

180 FATHEULESS FANNY ; OK,

1 entreat you will never name the subject to me*
again, for I would not wed with royalty upon
such mortifying terms ; to-morrow 1 shall return
to Col. Ross's to propose for my journey : when
you wish to see me, you will favour me with your
company there : I shall not therefore be obliged
to meet the Duke, who 1 trust will soon forget
me, and depend upon it I will make every effort
in my power to efface his image from my mind/'

" It will require some effort then,'' said Ame
lia, archly, " I am glad however to hear that, and
I will take care to report it to my client by way
of a cordial."

" If you value my peace of mind, you will
never name me to your client again," said Fanny,
" but. whether you do or not, my resolution will
remain unshaken. But come, let us return to the
company, where, no doubt, our absence has been
noticed."

" Oh no doubt," replied Amelia, u such charm
ing creatures as we are, must be missed, so al-
lons" and she took Fanny's arm, and led the
"way to the drawing-room. As soon as they en
tered, the Marchioness of Petersfield called Miss
Stanhope to her — u Amelia," said she, " we are
going to the Opera, will you go ?"

" I , never thought about it," said Miss Stan
hope, " what occasions this sudden resolution,
you did not intend it before dinner."

" Oh no," replied the Marchioness, " but the
Marquis of Cheviotdale has been teasing me into
the scheme ; 1 had lent my box to Lady Mary
Bou verie, but she has just sent word that she can
not use it, as her eldest son is very ill ; Lord Che
viotdale and all heard me read the note to Maria,
and he has been almost upon his knees to
persuade me to go. He says this new Opera is
a most divine thing; and as a further induce
ment, he has promised to introduce the inter-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT,

esting Creole to us, and everybody is making
such a fuss about him, that positively it is quite a
bore not to know him."

" And who in the name of wonder is the inter
esting Creole?" said Miss Stanhope, " I am an
enthusiast about interesting people, do tell me
his name. Is he young?"

" His name is Hamilton ; he is not young, but
he is the most beautiful creature that ever was
seen ; Lord Choviotdale says, the ladies are posi
tively dying for him by hundreds."

" Then 1 pity them," rejoined Amelia, " for it
is labour in vain for them to fall in love with him,
if IIP be the rich Mr. Hamilton."

" He is indeed the rich Mr. Hamilton in the
vocabulary of the votaries of Plutus ; but he is
the handsome Mr. Hamilton, and the interesting
Creole w it h the lad ies," answered the Marchioness,
" so you must go ; but apropos, you spoke as if
you were acquainted with him just now, do you
know any of his history, they say it is a most ex
traordinary one?"

" What I know about him," answered Amelia,
ft has nothing: extraordinary in it, it is the most

C* * '

natural thing in the world, he has fallen in love
withajoung girl, and old bachelors are very apt
to do that."

" Who is she? what young girl do you mean?"
was vociferated from two or three voices at once.

" 1 will not tell you,'' answered Amelia, laugh
ing, " if we all go to the Opera you will soon see."

" You must persuade Maria then," said the
Marchioness, " for she seems averse to the pro
posal."

Lady Maria was on the other side of the room,
whilst they had been talking of Mr. Hamilton,
and had heard nothing of the conversation. Miss

^^

Stanhope went to her, and endeavoured to per
suade her to go to the Opera.

188

FATHERLESS FANNY : OK.

"No," replied her ladyship, *' I am going home,
and Fanny has just been so kind as to promise to
go with me ; her visit has surely been long
enough here.''

"Your ladyship must excuse me there," said
Amelia, " you are going to run away with Fanny
into the country, and that is bad enough, for you
know 1 can hardly live without her ; but posi
tively you shall not take her to-night, I will not
go to the Opera without she goes."

" Now, Fanny, would you not like to go to the
Opera?"

" I am very fond of the Opera," answered
Fanny, " but I have promised Lady Maria to re
turn with her."

tf Well, then, you must break your promise,
that is all I know, interrupted Miss Stanhope,
" for a silly vow is better broken than kept."

" I will not break my promise," replied Fan
ny, " for 1 never do ; but if Lady Maria likes to
release me, that is a different tiling."

" Lady Maria will release you, she musty" said
Amelia, " for I am determined to have my own
way as long as I can ; I am going to be married,
and then I shall never have it, 1 suppose."

Lady Maria laughed. " You are a wild crea
ture," said her ladyship, " and do just what you
please with every body, I believe 1 shall go to
the Opera myself to accommodate you."

" That's a divine creature, now I love you !" re
joined Miss Stanhope, " come Fanny, (turning to
her pensive friend,) let us go and put a little
more brilliancy on our heads, the simple costume
in which they are now dressed will not do for the
Opera, 1 intend to be very killing ; perhaps you
may think you can do mischief enough without
the foreign aid of ornament, but I am not so
vain."

" Don't be long at your toilet," said the Mar-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 189

chioness, as Amelia and Fanny left the room,
" we are going to have tea directly."

As soon as they were gone, " What a ridiculous
fuss is made about that girl, I am positively sick of
it," said the Marchioness. " Miss Stanhope's re
gard for her is quite infatuation."

" Fanny is a very good girl," said Lady Maria,
but I really do wonder sometimes myself, what
people see in her, to be so violently enchanted."

When do the Ellincourts come home ?" asked
a lady who sat by.

" I dont know, indeed," answered Lady Maria,
I wish they were come, for I grow quite uneasy
about my charge."

" How so," said the Marchioness, " I thought
you said she was a very good girl."

" So she is," replied Lady Maria, " but I am
afraid somebody will run away with her; Colonel
Ross says there are so many people in love with
her."

The ladies laughed. "Oh never fear," said one
of them, " pretty girls are not scarce enough to
tempt men to much risk to obtain one ! — Don't
some people say she is the daughter of Lord E. by
that Italian mistress he kept?"

" Oh dear no," answered another, " she is not
Lord Ellincourt's daughter, she is too old for
that, but I have heard that Lady Ellincourt was
afraid she would be her daughter, for Lord El
lincourt was crazy about her, and would certainly
have married her, if his mother had not made him
go abroad.

uLord Ellincourt is safe now," said a third,
" for he is married to a lady of very lars;e for
tune."

" I know her very well," said the Marchioness,
" she was a school-fellow of Maria's, a poor stu
pid thing as ever lived, pretending to be so good
and so gentle, that she was just like a mcthodist,

No. 9. 2 B

190 FATHERLESS FANKY ; OR,

and was as fond of this Fanny, before she went
abroad, as Miss Stanhope, but had not so spirited
a way of shewing it."

" Where is your ladyship going into the coun
try ?" said the lady that spoke first, addressing
Lady Maria.

" We are going to Pemberton Abbey ; Lady
Ellincourt gave us leave to make what use we
pleased of it, in her absence ; and the Colonel
seems to wish me to stay there the few months he
intends being in Ireland."

"Is the Colonel going to Ireland directly?"
u Oh no, he intends remaining at Pemberton
Abbey for three weeks or a month, and then
going back with Lord Ballafyn, who is now in
England, and returns to Ireland at that time."
" Is Pemberton Abbey a pretty place ?"
" I really don't know, for I was never there,
but Fanny speaks of it in raptures," said Lady
Maria.

" It was part of the rich Hamilton's estate,"
said the talkative lady, at least I believe so, I
think Lady Ellincourt said she bought it of Mr.
Hamilton's executors, I don't mean the Mr. Ha
milton we were talking of just noAv, because you
know he is alive : but he only inherited as legatee,
he was no relation to the old gentleman, I under
stand ; did your ladyship ever hear why old Mr.
Hamilton went abroad ?"

" Never," answered Lady Maria ; " I did hear
Lady Ellincourt say there was some melancholy
cause, but as I hate sad stories, I never asked
any questions : was it any thing very shocking?"
" Oh, yes I he had only one child, and that was
a son ; but he was lost when he was just come of
age, and never heard of since."

" Surely," exclaimed Lady Maria, "that mustbe
impossible ; how could a young man of that age
be lost, unless indeed it was at sea."

1KB LITTLB MENDICANT. 191

" Oh no, it was not at sea ; he was one of the
finest young men that ever was seen, and every
body loved him that knew him, poor Mr. Hamil
ton perfectly idolized him; it is a great many
years ago, I am ashamed to say I remember it, for
it makes one appear so shockingly old, but I
really do. Oh dear, there was nothing else talked
of at the time, and some thought one thing, and
some thought another ; but nothing ever came
out, and it hurt poor old Hamilton so much, that
he went abroad, and would never come home
again, and he died in the West Indies, I believe.

" What a very extraordinary story," said Lady
Maria, " but how came the old gentleman to
give his money to this Mr. Hamilton, if he is no
relation to him."

" Indeed, my dear, I don't know, but I sup
pose he met with him when he was just going
into his dotage, and he played his cards well,
and got on the weak side of the old man ; I hear
this Hamilton is very clever."

" As he is of the same name, I should sup
pose," said Lady Maria, " that he pretended to
be related to the Hamilton family."

" Oh no, my dear, he took the name of Hamil
ton for the estates : he is a Creole, they say, and
was never in England till now."

" How long ago is it since the son disappear
ed ?" said Lady Maria.

" My dear creature, what a shocking ques
tion, when I have just told you / recollect the
circumstance ; but however, I may as well tell
you, it is nineteen years ago, 1 was, then just a
bride ; dear mo, it seems only yesterday ! —Have
you heard that Mr. H. is going to be married?"

" /know nothing about it," said Lady Maria,
with an air of ennui, for Mrs. Ellis had tired her
with her circumstantial narrative. The entrance
of Miss Stanhope and Fanny put an end to the

192 FAT'HEKLKK* FA.VXY ; OH,

conversation, and as soon as iea was over, the
whole party adjourned to the opera,attended by
the Duke of Albemarle, the Marquisses of Pe-
tersfield and Cheviotdale, and Col. Ross.

CHAPTER XXI.

The Opera.

THE two ladies who accompanied the Marchio
ness of Petersfield's family party to the Opera,-
had a box adjoining her lad j ship's, and as that
could boast a better view of the stage, Miss Stan
hope accepted their offer of sitting there, in pre
ference to the Marchioness's, and as she was
known to be inseparable from Fanny, a seat
was also offered to her.

The first act was nearly over when they en
tered the house, and the first object that struck
Fanny on her entrance, was Mr. Hamilton, sitting
in the pit, with his arms folded across his breast,
and his eyes pensively fixed upon the part of the
house where their box was situated. He instantly
recognized Fanny, and rising from his seat, made
her a low bow ; confused beyond measure at this
public salute, the deepest crimson covered her
cheeks ; but she, nevertheless, returned the com
pliment by a slight inclination of the head.

This did not pass unobserved by Col. Ross,
who was in the back part of the box, talking to
Lord Cheviotdale, and exclaimed in the first

THli LITTLE MENDICANT. 10$

ebullition of fury, " Curse the fellow." Col. lloss
was unconscious that he had spoken aloud, until
Lord Cheviotdale, whose eyes had followed the
Colonel's, as it glanced at the object of his anger,
asked him with surprise, " if he meant Mr. Ha
milton ? hut," added his lordship, recollecting
himself, " that is impossible, for every hody thai
knows Mr. Hamilton, likes him."

" I know very little of that gentleman," said
the Colonel, " nor do I wish to increase the ac
quaintance, for he resembles a person I detest,
and it was that likeness which forced from my
lips the apostrophe that surprised yout"

" By Heavens!" rejoined Lord Cheviotdale,
te if Hamilton be like any body who is una-
miable, it can be only an exterior resemblance;
therefore, to do away such an unjust prejudice, I
shall immediately fetch him hither, and 1 will
bet ten thousand pounds you recant your un
favourable opinion in half an hour afterwards."

The Marquis did not wait for Colonel Ross to
answer ; but, quitting the box, made his way
into the pit, and returned in a very few minutes
accompanied by Mr. Hamilton.

" I have fulfilled my promise," said his lord
ship, addressing the Marchioness of Petersfield,
" here is Mr. Hamilton, drawn hither by the
ardent desire he feels to be introduced to your
ladyship."

The Marchioness put on one of her most gra
cious looks, and replied, "that she should esteem
herself happy in the honour of Mr. Hamilton's
acquaintance."

Col. Ross bit his lip, and received his share of
the introductory ceremony with stiff politeness.

Miss Stanhope looked at Lord Cheviotdale
with an air of reproach, who instantly understood
the hint, and whispering to Mr. Hamilton, led
him into the adjoining box, where he renewed

194 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

the ceremony of introduction, both to Miss
Stanhope and her friend.

The ladies, who were in the same box, were ac
quainted with Mr. Hamilton, and gave him so
cordial a reception, that he accepted their invita
tion to take a seat in their box, and placing him
self behind Fanny, he addressed the chief part
of his conversation to her and Miss Stanhope,
whose lively sallies seemed to please him much,
and often awakened a sweet smile upon his pen
sive countenance.

There was solid sense in every thing Mr.
Hamilton said, and he expressed himself in such
elegant language, that Fanny listened to him with
delight, whilst her soft eyes beamed upon him a
look of the sweetest complacency.

The Duke of Albemarle, who was in the box
adjoining, had watched Fanny with all the tor
tures of jealousy, from the first moment of Mr.
Hamilton's introduction ; and when he read
upon her intelligent countenance such unequi
vocal proofs of her admiration of the man he
deemed his rival, he could scarcely rein-in his
rage and indignation.

Alarmed lest his emotions should betray him,
he left the box, and endeavoured to recover
his self-command by a walk in the adjoining
saloon.

Sir Everard Mornington was at the Opera that
evening, and as soon as he espied Miss Stanhope,
he hastened to join her party.

Sir Everard was one of those lively people
who are at home every where and acquainted
with every body ; he entered the box therefore
without ceremony, and after a slight nod and
" how do" to Amelia, he began a long story to
one of the old ladies, about a narrow escape he
had experienced in the morning, having been
thrown out of a dog-cart tandem which lie was

THE LITTLE MKSDiCANT. 195

driving, to the imminent risk of his own neck,
and the total demolition of the poor woman's
wheel-barrow that had caused the accident, by
crossing the street just at the moment young
Jehu was driving down Bond-street, in the true
style of prime and bang up !

" Good heavens!" said Miss Stanhope, "you
talk so shockingly, that positively I shall be ner
vous whenever I see any body driving a tandem
or four-in-hand again."

u Don't alarm yourself," replied her lover,
" there is nothing so delightful to a man of spirit
as a hair-breadth escape now and then ; it gives
him eclat. Now this accident will be in all the
papers, and I shall be the topic of conversation
for these three days. I wish I had broken my
collar-bone or dislocated my arm, or some snug
little accident; that would have been prime, for
there must have been a bulletin, and all my
friends, or at least my soi-disant friends, must
have been very sorry, whether they would or
not."

Miss Stanhope laughed ; " you are the first
person," said she, " 1 ever heard wish to break
their bones, or dislocate their joints, for the sake
of notoriety, and I think as you are so ambitious
of fame, you had better join the army in Por
tugal, and there you may stand a fair chance of
having your head taken off in a celebrated man
ner by a cannon ball, or of losing some of your
limbs at least." '

" Losing a limb or so might be very well, if it
happened in England, but as to the head," re
plied Sir Everard, " the loss of that would spoil
all, for there would be no occasion for a bulletin;
and as services abroad are equally preclusive of
that delightful oblation to vanity, I will serve my
country at home, by encouraging its breed of
horses, employing its mechanics in building car-

196 FATHERLESS FANNT ; OR,

riages, and gratifying the most beautiful part of
its population by sporting my elegant figure in
all the paraphernalia of a modern son of the whip.
When, encouraged by their approving glances, 1
become invincible to the dangers of my elevated
station, and squaring my elbows, I handle the
ribbons, and tip my fits in their traces, such a
dasher, that we are prime and bang up beyond
all competition."

Miss Stanhope was nof deficient in sense, and
yet she was charmed with a jargon that had not a
particle of that quality to boast of.

There is no accounting for partialities between
the sexes, as it may very frequently be observed,
that persons of the most opposite tastes and pro
pensities will select each other, and consider it
indispensable to their mutual happiness to be
united.

The brilliant alliance which fortune seemed to
offer her in her union with the Duke, had no at
traction in her eyes; nor could his Grace's ele
gant person, his fine understanding, nor the fasci
nation of his manners, tempt her for a moment to
forego her choice.

Sir Everard Mornington was a fine healthy-
looking young man, and might perhaps have dis
played something like a mind, had studying
been the fashion instead of driving; but the com
pany he had been obliged to keep, in order to
attain any degree of perfection in the science he
was ambitious to shine in, had as completely vul
garised his ideas, as the quaint dress of the natty
coachman had disfigured his naturally fine per
son.

Yet still in Miss Stanhope's eyes, he was all
perfection; and as she was no less agreeable to
him, there had been an explanation between them
that had developed their views to each other.

A clandestine marriage had been decided on,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. J97

and the giddy couple anticipated with delight
the noise their elopement would make in the
great world.

Sir Everard was rich, and therefore Miss Stan
hope's fortune was not his object in addressing
her; and- when she explained to him the clause in
her father's will, which made her fortune the pe
nalty of her refusing to marry the Duke of Albe-
marle, he laughed, and told her, " he thought it
would be prime to lip the knowing ones the go-
by, and shew them they had more spirit than to
mind what old musty parchments said, that help
ed to do the mischief the old quiz's that made
them could not live to finish."

But to return to the Opera-House. Mr. Ha
milton in the course of the conversation, learnt
that Fanny was going out of town, and when Miss
Stanhope named Lady Ellincourt's seat in York
shire, he clapped his hand to his forehead, and
exclaimed, "Heavens, what a circumstance!"

" Do you know that part of the world," said
Miss Stanhope, whose curiosity had been raised
by the exclamation.

" Know it !" rejoined Mr. Hamilton, " Oh,
would to God 1 had never known it !"

Miss Stanhope was alarmed, for she thought
Mr. Hamilton was insane, as his eyes rolled for
several minutes with a wildness truly terrific. " I
thought," said she, endeavouring to turn the
conversation, "that you were a stranger in this
country, Sir, and had been in England only a
few months."

" Most true," replied Mr. Hamilton, seeming
to recover himself a little, " 1 am a stranger in
this country : I have no existence here, but I am
trespassing on your attention ladies," continued
he, turning to Miss Stanhope and Fanny, " whilst
more pleasing objects demand it ; the name of
the estate that formerly belonged to my deceased
9. 2c

198 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

friend, awakened ideas most painful to recall ;
but it is over, and I entreat your pardon."

It was in vain that Mr. Hamilton recommended
to Miss Stanhope and Fanny to give their atten
tion to the Opera, he had fixed it for the night,
and they could neither of them hear or see any
other person. As to Fanny, she was affected be
yond measure, by the anguish expressed on the
countenance of her new friend, and she found It
difficult to restrain the tears that were ready to
drop from her eyes. Mr. Hamilton perceived
her emotion, and fearful lest it should attract the
notice of the ladies around her, he arose from his
seat, and quitted the box. The Duke of Albe-
marle entered as he did so, and placing himself
behind Fanny, he remained stationary until the
party quitted the theatre.

It was in vain, however, that he addressed his
conversation to Fanny, or indeed to Miss Stan
hope, so lost were they in conjectures as to the
possible cause of Mr. Hamilton's sorrow, that a
monosyllable was the utmost the Duke could
obtain in answer to any thing that he said! In-
ilamed with jealousy, and exasperated beyond the
bounds of prudence, he seized Fanny's arm as
she was entering the coffee-room, and darting at
her a look of anger, he said in a tone of voice
that spoke his inward emotion ; " inexorable
girl, forbear to trifle thus with my happiness —
remember my life is in your hands : never will I
marry any other woman !"

" Then you will die single," said a harsh voice
behind him, and at the same moment he felt a
hand grasp his arm with violence. He turned
round, and beheld Lord Somertown, who imme
diately obliged him to quit Fanny, and go with
him.

" I came hither," said his lordship, " in search
of my nephew, little imagining what a fool I was
looking for."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 199

Ashamed and confused, beyond expression,
the Duke suffered himself to be led away by
Lord Somertown, (who had taken hold of his
arm) to his carriage, without proffering: a single
word. His uncle was silent also for some time
after they were seated in the chariot, at length
however, he spoke : — " I had formed a better
opinion of your understanding," said his lord
ship. " A man may trifle with as many wo
men as he pleases, but when he so far forgets
himself as to talk of marriage, he deserves to
be posted for a blockhead. An intrigue with the
companion of your intended wife is most ridi
culously indiscreet, and particularly so before
you are secure of her. It is not morality I am
preaching to you, for you already know my opi
nion on that subject; all I wish to inculcate is a
prudent regard to my wishes and your own inter
est; I have set my mind upon this union, and if it
fails through your delinquency, woe unto the frail
cause of it! You know me, Henry, take care
then how you offend me; if you value the painted
puppet you were pretending to worship in that
fulsome strain of idolatry, beware of drawing
down my displeasure upon her. If 1 thought
she stood in the way of your marriage with Miss
Stanhope, by heavens, I would annihilate her.
She should vanish from your fascinated eyes, nor
leave a trace of her insignificant existence behind
her."

The Duke shuddered as he listened to Lord
Somertown's threatening language, for well did
he know that if the power were lent him, he
did not want the will to execute the direst ven
geance on those he deemed his enemies. The
bare idea of exposing the lovely Fanny to his
uncle's fury, was dreadful to him, and he resolved
to dissemble his real sentiments under a shew of
obedience. " I am concerned," said he, hesitat-

300 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

ing from the consciousness of a duplicity to which
his soul was a stranger; "I am concerned that
your lordship should mistake a little unmean
ing gallantry, shewn to a beautiful young wo
man, for a serious attachment ; I have told your
lordship that it was my wish to marry Miss Stan
hope, and I now assure you that I still admire
the same lady that then occupied my heart, in
preference to all others, and if I don't marry
Amelia Stanhope, the impediment to our union
will not originate in me."

" Bravo !" exclaimed Lord Somertown, " if
you are sincere it is well, but think not that I
am to be deceived by a stripling like you. That
girl is an artful creature, who has her views in
her pretended coyness ; but I repeat, beware
how you let me suspect any thing serious in that
quarter. Remember, it will be at the peril of
your minion!

The Duke again affirmed that he was as ready to
fulfil the contract with Miss Stanhope, and Lord
Somertown was, or at least appeared to be, satis
fied.

When, however, he retired to his apartment,
the agitation of the Duke's mind was intolerable;
he had pledged his word to his uncle to marry
Miss Stanhope, provided she was willing to ac
cept him as a husband ; and although the pro
mise was extorted by his fears for Fanny's safety,
he could not for an instant conceive the possi
bility of forfeiting his word, should she, contra
ry to her solemn assurances, place no barrier
in the way of their nuptials. " Good heavens !"
said he, (( what would become of me should I
find myself entangled in a net of my own weav
ing. Amelia has promised to render our mar
riage impossible ; is she then betrothed to
another? and does she mean to evade her union
with me, by running away with her favourite

THE LITTLE MK.VDICANT. 201

lover ? Alas ! her schemes may be rendered abor
tive by the vigilance oi' her guardians, and be
tween threats and persuasion, she may be brought
to consent to the annihilation of my happiness.
Well, should that be the case, 1 must console
myself by reflecting that my fears for the adored
object of my affection, led me to the fatal sacri
fice. Had i appeared irresolute, or hesitated in
answering my uncle, his vengeance would have fal
len on the defenceless Fanny, and then the agony
of my soul would have been too much for me to
support. No, I have acted in the only way that
was left me to insure her safety, and if that were
purchased with my life, it were cheaply bought.
But I will cherish better hopes, Amelia Stanhope
is generous, she will be faithfulj and I shall yet
possess the power of addressing the only woman
1 can ever love."

With these reflections, fluctuating between
hope and fear, the Duke passed a sleepless night,
and arose the next morning dispirited and pale
from the anxiety that still preyed upon his
spirits.

In the mean time, Fanny had not been much
more calm, but her agitation had not originated
in the same cause, for love had nothing to do
with the emotions that harassed her mind ; an
interest that she could not define was excited in
her heart for Mr. Hamilton, and it was with a
mixture of terror and joy that she received the
following note from him as he was assisting her
to get into the Marchioness of Peterfield's car
riage. She counted the minutes until she was
alone, and free to peruse it, for she would not
trust even Miss Stanhope with the knowledge of
her having received it. The instant her lively
friend had bid her good night, she tore open the
seal with a trembling hand, and read the follow
ing mysterious words : —

202 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" You are going to Pemberton Abbey, so am
I ; and I trust we shall there find an opportunity
of meeting without spies or intruders ; I want to
tell you the history of my eventful life ; some
thing whispers me that you are interested in it,
beyond what you at present suspect; oh ! should
it prove so — what bliss for both of us ! I dare
not trust the thought. Farewell, until we meet
again."

CHAPTER XXII.

Tete-a-Tete.

THE agitation excited in the bosom of Fanny,
by the reading of Mr. Hamilton's note, did not
easily subside. The words contained in it, im-

Elied a mystery that awakened every feeling of
er heart, should she indeed find a parent!
The idea was insupportable, for although in
spired by hope, it was unsanctioned by reason ;
and she felt that to part with the sweet ex
pectation, however vague or unfounded, would
now cost her very dear. The whole of the
night wore away in unavailing conjecture, and
the morning found her agitation as much be
wildered in the labyrinth of uncertainty, as when
she laid her aching head upon the pillow. She
was obliged, however, to conceal her emotions,
lest any step should be taken to prevent the pro
mised interview. The few succeeding days that
intervened between the Opera and her departure
for Pemberton Abbey, were engrossed by prepa
rations for the journey, and although Amelia
tried every stratagem to get Fanny to come to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 203

her at the Marquis of Petersfield's, she could not
succeed, and she quitted London without seeing
the Duke of Albemarle, who did not dare to
make any attempt to obtain that pleasure, except
by visiting Amelia frequently, in the hope of
meeting her there. Disappointment was con
stantly his portion, however ; and Lord Somer-
town, whose vigilance had never slept since his
suspicions were first awakened, was convinced
that Fanny left town without any communication
having passed between them. That vindictive
nobleman had long been conversant in the best
method of employing spies, and when he wished
to ascertain any fact relative to those who had
incurred his displeasure, he spared neither pains
nor expence to obtain the information he wanted.
Poor Fanny was now the object of his vengeance,
and his intended victim ; and he took care to sur
round the steps of the hapless girl with crea
tures devoted to his service, and willing to assist
his most diabolical plans for the sake of obtaining
a continuation of the bribes that had perverted
their principles. There is a God, however, whose
all-seeing wisdom can penetrate the darkest
machination of cunning, and whose power can
protect the weakest of his creatures against a
host of enemies. That merciful Being was now
watching over the seemingly unprotected Fanny,
and viewing with an eye of stern displeasure the
dark plots of her insidious foes.

Lady Maria Ross was but an indifferent tra
veller, and as the weather was warm, and the
journey of more than two hundred and fifty miles
in length, it was determined that the family
should sleep two nights on the road. The first
day's journey ended at a lone inn, nearly a hun
dred miles from town, in a spot so romantically
beautiful, that Fanny was enchanted with the
rich scenery around it, displayed by a clear

204 FATHERLESS FANNY; OU,

moon, now nearly at the full, in a more interest
ing landscape than when gilt by the sun-beams
of " the garish eye of day." Instead, therefore,
of retiring; to bed when she entered her room for

^j

the night, she continued at one of the windows,
contemplation with delight the beautiful pros
pect, until a clock, from a distant church, struck
one; she was then thinking of seeking her pillow,
but as she was receding from the window, her
eyes rested on the tall figure of a man, who ap
peared to be gazing at the spot where she stood ;
his attitude was so fixed, that she imagined he
had been there some time, although she had not
before observed him ; but whether he could dis
tinguish her or not, she could not ascertain, as no
sign on his part implied any consciousness of her
existence. The sight, however, of a human being
at that dreary hour, and in that lone situation, for
the stillness of the house had long since pro
claimed that its inhabitants were wrapt in the
arms of sleep, gave her a sensation of alarm, that
made her close her window with precipitation,
and drawing the curtain that shaded it, she has
tily prepared for bed.

Before she entered that mansion of repose,
however, she stole another glance from the win
dow, to satisfy herself whether the figure was
still there. It had vanished from the spot where
she had first seen it, but although the declining
beams of the moon cast a broad shadow over one
part of the scene, she was soon able to distinguish
it standing close under her wind.ow, and with
looks cast upwards as if observing her chamber.
A handkerchief applied to the face, completely
shrouded the features from her ken, and he
stood in the light, but the dark spot he had cho
sen, rendered that caution unnecessary. As Fanny
perceived the figure, she uttered a faint scream,
and put her hand before her eyes. When she

p
\>

-~ -

\4

THE LITTLE MliNDICANT. 20-5

again withdrew it, the apparition had vanished,
and although she watched until another hour re
sounded from the village turret, she beheld it no
more.

It would be a vain task to attempt to describe
the variety of conjectures, which occupied the
mind of Fanny, through the wakeful hours that
succeeded this mysterious vision ; sometimes she
was inclined to believe, that she Avas not con
cerned in its appearance ; but the next moment
she rejected that idea, and felt an instinctive
conviction, that it portended the vigilant obser
vation of some friend or' foe. — And yet she did
not stand in need of an act of friendship, attend
ed with such apparent inconvenience to the per
son who performed it. And as to 'A foe, she was
unconscious that she had one. .At length, over
come with fatigue and watching, she dropped
into a deep slumber, from which she did not
awake until a hasty summons to breakfast in
formed her how much she had trespassed be
yond the usual hour of rising. The bustle occa
sioned by over-sleeping herself broke the train
of her thoughts, and rendered her fitter to meet
the family at the breakfast table. The journey
of that day was unmolested by any incident, and
again the travellers rested at a lone house. It
was always Col. BOSS'S custom when he slept on
the road to avoid iowns, and the inns he had
selected to repose at on this journey, were every
way calculated to make his choice approved ;
they were replete with every convenience for the
accommodation of a large family, and the spots
where they .stood, the most picturesque that can,
be imagined. Fanny had been struck with the
beauty of the scenery surrounding that where she
passed the first night, but when she viewed the
situation of the second inn, she was still more en
chanted, and she could not forbear exclaiming, as

9. 2 D

206 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

she alighted from the carriage, that she never saw
such a paradise before. Lady Maria was no enthusi
ast, either in poetry or painting, and therefore she
viewed the wild beauties of the majestic hills, the
rich luxuriance of the scattered woods, and all the
magic beauty of the fairy landscape, with a
sang-froid that astonished Fanny, whose every
faculty appeared strained to catch the prospect
that delighted Her. The moon was risen in its full
splendour, by the time tea was over.

" Oh how I should like a walk this delightful
evening," said Fanny, thoughtlessly, " if it were

not for the fear of ," she stopped short, and

blushing exceedingly, recollected that she had
determined not to mention the nocturnal appari
tion that had alarmed her.

" The fear of what ?" repeated Colonel Ross,
" what fear can you have, Fanny, that need pre
vent your taking a walk such an evening as this,
provided I escort you ?"

" O none, to be sure," replied she, " 1 only
meant, that 1 should be afraid to walk alone."

" Alone, certainly, would not be proper," said
the Colonel, but there can be no objection to
your going well attended— Maria will you ac
company us ?"

" Oh no," answered her ladyship, " the fa
tigue of the journey is quite enough for me, I am
not such an admirer of nature, nor have I such a
romantic turn for moon-light contemplations as
Fanny." This was spoken in a tone of splenetic
fretfulness, that betrayed Lady Maria's displea
sure at the Colonel's proposal, and Fanny imme
diately declared that the would not go, nor
could the eloquence exerted by the Colonel in
duce her to accept his offer of attending her. He
appeared piqued at her refusal, and muttered
something between his teeth of self-willed girls.

Poor Fanny was glad to escape from her com-

THtt LITTLE MtiNDIC'ANT. 207

panions, who were neither of them in good hu
mour, and therefore she retired early to her cham
ber. " At least/' said she, as she seated herself
at her window, "here I need not fear, that I
shall be disturbed by the apparition, he has
scarcely ridden hither on the wings of the w ind,
to disturb my nocturnal contemplations !"

The room that Fanny inhabited, looked into a
small garden, from whence a flight of steps
reached to a balcony close under her window ; the
bustle of the inn had not yet subsided, but the
sounds were distant, for the apartment she occu
pied was at the end of the corridor, and quite re
mote from the interior of the house.

A beautiful champaign country opened to her
view at the extremity of the garden. On the left
were seen scattered woods, bounded by lofty hills,
so varied in size, that they appeared, as the moon
silvered their majestic points, as if they were ris
ing emulous of reflecting her lustrous beams.

To the right, on a bold eminence, and unadorn
ed by even a single tree, to soften the stern as
pect of the picture, rose the majestic ruins of an
ancient castle, which seemed in sullen pride to
frown upon the sons of little men, who now dared
to tread the sacred spot, where once flourished
heroes unbending and invincible.

At the proud battlements that entrenched
them, Fanny gazed with delight, as the clear
moon darted her silver radiance through the dis
mantled windows, and ivy clad loop-holes of the
gloomy tower. The scene was solemn and sublime,
and calculated to raise the enthusiastic imagina
tion of youth to the highest pitch of mental en
joyment ; by degrees the noise in the house died
away, and the calm stillness was unbroken, save
that at intervals the distant watch-dog barked at
some casual straggler within the precincts of his
nightly care.

208 FATHKRLESS FANNY ; OR,

Fanny was in raptures ; she had extinguished
her candle, that its light might not expose her
to the observation of any distant wanderer. Her
eye dwelt alternately upon the rich forest, the
hills bright with the rays of the moon, and the
frowning castle proud, and in majestic loneliness.
And that seeing might not be the only sense,
a woodbine, whose luxuriant branches covered
the walls of the house, and breathed fragrance
around, now intruded some of its spicy ilowers
within the open casement ; Fanny inhaled the
balmly gale as the night breeze shook its dewy
wings around her, and entranced in an ecstacy
of enjoyment, she sat unmindful of the waning
night, until a clock striking one, roused her from
her pleasing reverie; the nour reminded her of
the figure she had seen the preceding night, and
so strong was the power of fancy upon her mind,
that her eye mechanically sought it in the scene
before her. She looked however in vain ; the
most profound stillness reigned, and the clear
rays of the moon displayed nothing but inani
mate objects to her view. — " No," said she,
speaking aloud, unconscious that she did so,
" No, he has not followed me here — alas ! I fear,
my imagination misleads me, and the fairy vision
it has conjured up, to delight, will melt into
JEither" As she spoke she cast her eyes towards
the castle, and fancied she saw something emerge
from one of itsdelapidated portals; she was soon
convinced that she was right, for she beheld the
same tall figure she had seen the preceding night,
Amoving towards the garden, that skirted the inn.
Although she had almost wished to see it, an
indistinct horror seized her as she gazed upon
its approaching footsteps, and she was going to
retire from the window, when she thought she
heard a name pronounced distinctly, though in a
low voice, under her window : startled at the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 209

sound, she lent forward to ascertain whence it
proceeded, and to her astonishment beheld Colo
nel Ross standing in the balcony beneath.
" What can be the cause of this nocturnal watch
ing?" said he, rather sternly; "this is the second
time I have been witness to your sitting up half
the night at your window."

" The extreme beauty of the surrounding sce
nery attracted me to my window to view it,"
replied Fanny, " and when I had once indulged
in the contemplation, I found it impossible to
leave it; there is nothing extraordinary sure in
that, when you recollect what an enthusiastic
admirer I am of the beauties of nature.'''

" Nature has a variety of beauties, most un
doubtedly," replied the Colonel, " and I sup
pose the fortunate being you apostrophized just
now, is one of them, is he not ?"

" I am astonished," replied Fanny, " that
you should think it worth while to watch me, and
listen under my window, Sir, at an hour when it
appears so strange to you that / should be
watching !"

_ " Your astonishment would cease," rejoined he,
" could JTOU know the real state of my heart ;
could you know that the most trivial of your ac
tions is important in my eyes, but when I think
you are about to bestow upon a favoured lover
that heaven of love, which I am determined no
man but myself shall possess, and live! it it then
that every feeling of my soul is harrowed up,
every energy awakened, and the hurricane of
passion transports me beyond the boundary of
reason and prudence."

" This language is certainly unfit for me to lis
ten to," interrupted Fanny, with dignity, u and
strange and incomprehensible as your allusions
are, Sir, I forbear to question you." So saying,

210 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

t

she shut down the window, and left the Colonel
to the enjoyment of his own reflections.

It may readily be supposed that they were
none of the pleasantest ; hurried away by the
emotion of the moment, he had made a pre
mature discovery of a passion he had hitherto
concealed with such caution, and he knew
enough of Fanny to be certain that he had incur
red her indignation, if not her abhorrence, by so
infamous an avowal.

In the mean time she retired from the window,
overwhelmed by feelings of resentment and dis
tress, impossible to describe ; she had always felt
a secret antipathy to Colonel Ross, which was now
justified by his atrocious conduct ; her heart had
often reproached her for the ungrateful return
she made to the continual acts of kindness she
experienced from him, and she had often endea
voured to conquer a dislike she thought founded
in. caprice. It was now proved, however, that
her repugnance to his friendship was the instinct
of a mind too pure and delicate to assimilate
with his ; which, though veiled beneath the
specious mask of hypocrisy, was the seat of every
vice that deforms human nature.

" Oh, Lady Ellincourt ! my beloved benefac
tress," exclaimed Fanny, clasping her hands
together in an agony of distress, " to what a care
you have confided your unhappy girl ? Ah ! little
does Lord Ellincourt think what a villain is
honoured with the name of his friend ! Return,
dear protectors of my infancy, return and restore
me, once more ! to happiness and security !"

Full of these thoughts, the disconsolate Fanny
threw herself upon her bed, and vented her
oppressed feelings in a flood of tears. When her
emotions had in some measure subsided, she re
collected the figure she had seen emerging from

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

211

the Castle, and she longed to ascertain whether
it was really the same that she had seen the preced
ing night. She feared, however, to goto the win
dow, lest Colonel Ross should be still beneath it,
and mistake her motive, by imagining she came
thither to look for him. This consideration re
strained her curiosity, and she went to bed with
out stealing one glance from the window. The
next morning when she was ready to descend to
breakfast, she felt the greatest awkwardness at
the idea of meeting Col. Ross, nor did she
entertain a doubt that his confusion would at
least equal her's, if not exceed it. What was
her astonishment then, when on entering the
room where Lady Maria and he were already at
breakfast, she beheld him, his brow armed with
frowns, and heard him in a tone of reproachful
authority, reprimand her for her late attendance
at the breakfast table; "this tardiness," added
he, "is owing no doubt to your nocturnal
watchings, but I warn you, Miss Fanny, that I
will have no such doings whilst you are under
our protection."

Struck dumb by the astonishment that had
seized her, Fanny seated herself at the table,
without uttering a word ; but she felt equally
unable to eat as to speak.

Lady Maria observed her distress, and good-
naturedly wished to relieve it. " My dear
Fanny," said she, '• do not let the Colonel's re
primand distress you so ; he only speaks for your
good. His anxiety for your welfare makes him
perhaps, too scrupulous about trifles. You had
been expressing your admiration of moon-light
scenery ; it was therefore natural you should
indulge yourself with a look, as you could not
take a walk."

" The admiring a moon-light scene from her

212 FATHEllLKSS FANNY ; OR,

chamber window, is certainly no crime" said the
Colonel, " if to admire that were the motive
that carried her there ; but when it is to converse
with a stranger, an adventurer, a person that
nobody knows, and one, of whose doubtful cha
racter she has received ample warning ; that
a young lady leaves her quiet pillow, and expo
ses herself at the dead hour of the night to the
dangers of such an assignation, then, indeed, the
case is altered, and the seemingly simple action
deserves the severest reprehension."

Fanny's surprise gave way to her indignation,
when she found herself thus daringly accused of
a thing she had not even dreamt of.

" I cannot express," said she, " the astonish
ment that has seized me, to find such a palpable
falsehood imputed to me. I cannot even guess
what Col. Ross alludes to, as I solemnly declare
that I conversed with no man from my window ;
had made appointment with no man ; and there
fore cannot possibly deserve the Colonel's allega
tions against me."

" Good heavens," exclaimed the Colonel, strik
ing his hands together with well- feigned astonish
ment, " I did not think you were capable of such
duplicity. Surely. Miss Fanny, you will not tell
me that 1 did not hear you speaking to a man
from your window ? That I did not hear that man
declare the most ardent passion for you, and
swear that no other should ever possess you and
live ? You will not have the effrontery to deny
that:'

Fanny was thunderstruck to hear the very
words repeated by the Colonel which he had
himself made use of to her, and which she
supposed he would have trembled to find
remembered, turned as an accusation against
herself.

It was an audacity in villainy too mighty for

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 213

her to cope with ; she could only lift her hands
and eyes in silent wonder.

" I know," continued the Colonel, " the fel
low that is taking such pains to follow you ; it
is the man who made acquaintance with you in
Hyde Park, when I came so opportunely to save
you from the consequences of your folly."

" The gentleman who rescued me from the
impertinence of a rude stranger," said Fanny,
" is Mr. Hamilton, and as much distinguished
for his politeness as his riches. Surely he cannot
deserve the epithets you bestow upon him, Sir."

" The person who imposes himself upon you for
Mr. Hamilton, is not that gentleman," said the
Colonel, " he only resembles that gentleman in
person, and makes use of that likeness to impose
upon the unwary."

" As 1 am acquainted with only one Mr. Ha
milton," replied Fanny, " his resemblance to ano
ther whom I never saw, could avail him nothing
with me."

" You seem inclined to vindicate your conduct
rather than confess your error," said the Colonel,
sternly, " but I would wish you to recollect, Miss
Fanny, that as Lady Ellincourt entrusted you to
our guardianship, during her absence, it behoves
us to watch over your conduct ; and if Lady
Maria chuses to allow you such latitude, 1 don't ;
and I give you notice that your nocturnal lover
will be treated with the severity he deserves, if he
is found lurking about Pemberton Abbey."

" If the man who was so daring as to declare a
passion for me, last night, in defiance to decency
and morality," said Fanny, " if he can be found, I
think he cannot be treated with more severity
than he deserves ; with more contempt than I feel
for him."

" 'Tis well," said the Colonel, his eyes (lashing
fury, " I am glad I know your sentiments, madam ;

No. 10. 2 E

214

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

and you may depend upon it I will act accord
ingly."

Fanny involuntarily trembled as she listened to
this menace, though she could not possibly con
ceive what it was intended to convey.

Lady Maria looked surprised, and endeavour
ed, with a good-humoured laugh, to turn the con
versation to something more agreeable. Though
subject to little gusts of fractiousness, when her
vanity was wounded, Lady Maria was naturally

food natured, and her kind heart was pained
y Fanny's evident distress. Her efforts, how
ever, proved all in vain ; the Colonel preserved
a sullen silence, whilst tears of real anguish and
dismay bedewed the cheeks of the unhappy
Fanny.

But very little breakfast was eaten by any of
the party ; and the carriage being announced as
in readiness for their departure, they began their
journey in a frame of mind not likely to render
it very pleasant.

CHAPTER XXIII.

P ember ton Abbey.

DURING the silent ride that ensued, Fanny's
ideas were occupied by the most painful reflec
tions, the most anxious uncertainty.

Col. Ross had spoken as if he was certain
that he knew the person whose appearance for
two nights had excited her curiosity so greatly ;
the figure had seemed to her eye to resemble that

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 215

of Mr. Hamilton; but it was impossible for her
to ascertain if it were really him or not, as his
face had never been revealed to her view. He
had promised to see her at Pemberton Abbey,
in the letter she had received from him just be
fore she left London; but there appeared no
probability that he could have followed her steps
with such exactitude upon the road, as to rest
every night at the same spot, and without being
observed during the day ; nor did there appear
any reasonable motive for his lurking about the
precincts of the inn at the dead hour of the night,
without knowing that she would be at her
chamber window, if it was really her he wanted
to speak to.

The field of conjecture is boundless ; and
Fanny's imagination wandered in it until it was
weary; nor could it draw a single conclusion
from its researches, to rest upon, after the fa
tiguing exertion.

Towards the close of the day the turrets of
Pemberton Abbey struck the eyes of the travel
lers as they ascended a steep hill, from the sum
mit of which they beheld the rich valley where
that venerable edifice was situate.

An exclamation of pleasure burst involunta
rily from the lips of Fanny, as she recognized the
spot where she had passed so many happy days
with her beloved Lady Ellincourt, whilst her
heightened colour and sparkling eyes betrayed
the emotions of her heart.

" You are a happy girl, Fanny," said Lady
Maria, smiling; "your romantic admiration of
beautiful scenery seems to give you real delight."

" It is not mere admiration that excites my
pleasure now," replied Fanny ; " the recollec
tion of dear friends has its share in the sweet
sensation. The sight of Pemberton Abbey brings
the happiest moments of ray life to my remem-

FATHERLESS FANNY; OH,

branoe; and 1 can scarcely persuade myself that
the dear lady I long to embrace, will not be there
to receive me. Oh, if she were, what happiness
would be mine!"

** The scene of happiness would be incom
plete" said Colonel Ross, with a sneer, unless
the Dear Lord were there as well as the Dear
Lady!"

" Most true," answered Fanny ; " Lord El-
lincourt is almost as dear to my heart as his
amiable mother. I am not sure whether he is
not quite as dear. The debt of gratitude, to
his lordship, has the claim of priority. But for'
his goodness, I should never have known that
revered lady."

" You must take care now" said Colonel
Ross, " how you make such unequivocal con
fessions of loving his lordship. Young Lady
Ellincourt may not like it, perhaps, so well as
the Dowager did!"

" The love I bear Lord Ellincourt," replied
Fanny, blushing, " can never give offence to any
body, and I am sure, least of all, to the sweet
lady you allude to."

" I am glad to hear it is of such a nature,"
replied Colonel Ross, sarcastically. " I merely
spoke with the wish of cautioning you against
professions of regard that might give rise to jea
lousy, should Lady Ellincourt be one of those
narrow-minded women who wish to keep their
husbands to themselves."

" Did every one consider the marriage vow in
the same sacred light that / do," replied Fanny,
"there would need no caution against an in
fringement of its rights."

As she spoke, her cheeks' glowed with indig
nation, and she cast a look of disdain at Colonel
Ross, that cut him to the soul. Yet, although it
awakened remorse in his depraved mind, it did

THE LITTLE MEXDICAXT.

217

not stimulate repentance, but rather served to
in [fame that desire of revenge which was already
kindled in his bosom.

Lady Maria seemed lost in astonishment as she
listened in silence, to the dispute between her
husband and Fanny. The asperity which was
evident in the 4vords of both surprised her beyond
measure. The kindness with which the Colonel
had hitherto treated Fanny, making the change
as wonderful on his side, as Fanny's native mild
ness did on her's.

Some secret motives must actuate both ; but
what it could possibly be remained impervious
to the shallow capacity of the good-natured Lady
Maria.

At length, the arrival of the carriage at Pem-
berton Abbey, put a stop to conjecture and re
sentment ; and the bustle of establishing them
selves in their different apartments, procured
amusement for all travellers.

Fanny's mind could now admit but one subject ;
it was wholly absorbed in reflections, on her ab
sent friends, whose images, ever present in her
grateful heart, were now more particularly
brought before her eyes, by the thousand local
circumstances calculated to recall the pleasing
remembrance on the spot where their kindness,
so often repeated, had endeared them to her.

The bed-room allotted for Fanny's use, was the
one she had occupied when Lady Ellincourt was
there ; and as her Ladyship's room was not cho
sen by Lady Maria, the whole suite of apart
ments were at Fanny's command, whose greatest
pleasure now consisted in wandering through
the forsaken chambers, gazing alternately on a
picture of Lord Ellincourt, that was over the
chimney in the dressing-room, and another of his
amiable mother, which hung in the adjoining
bed -room. It seemed, as she contemplated the

218 FATHERLESS FANNY ; Oil,

senseless canvass, as if the features so admirably
pourtrayed upon its surface, sympathized in the
sufferings she complained of. Lady Ellincourt
wore the expression of the tenderest pity, whilst
those of her son appeared animated by the glow
of spirited resentment.

" Dear shades of my distant protectors !" ex
claimed Fanny, apostrophising the portraits she
\vas looking at, " why can ye not now assist the
forlorn objects of your solicitude ? Why am I
doomed to suffer the tyranny of oppression, even
in the very house where my infant heart first learnt
the pleasing lessons of gratitude and affection ?
But why do I call myself forlorn ? Am I not
under the immediate protection of heaven ? Can
any power, however mighty, prevail against the
arm of Omnipotence? To that benign guardian
ship I commend myself. And he, whose watch
ful eye makes even a sparrow fall, will not suffer
confiding innocence to trust in vain."

With thoughts such as these did the artless
Fanny endeavour to soothe her perturbed mind,
and by placing a confidence in heaven, she soon
found her terrors subside, and that peace which
the world can neither give nor take away, be
came the inmate of her heart.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Painful Suspence.

IT is time now to return to Miss Stanhope and
the Duke of Albemarle, for whose nuptials every
preparation went on with the utmost celerity.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 219

To have seen Amelia in the midst of the crowd
of milliners, dress makers, jewellers, &c. &c.
that daily surrounded her, giving orders for the
various articles of finery necessary to render her
bridal pomp complete, nobody would have ima
gined that she was determined never to fulfil the
contract for which she was preparing ; indeed,
that she had already put it out of her power to
do so.

It is impossible to describe the anxiety of mind
which the Duke of Albemarle suffered during
the continuance of this suspence ; for, notwith
standing Miss Stanhope's promises to render
the scheme of the marriage abortive, and her
injunction to him to rely implicitly upon her
faith, he could not divest himself wholly of
doubt and distrust, and he would most assuredly
have disclosed the truth to his uncle, had his own
safety alone been endangered by so doing.

The Duke of Albemarle was naturally open and
candid, and the part so full of duplicity which he
had undertaken, pained him exceedingly.

Conversing one day, with Lord Somertown on
the subject of his approaching marriage with
Miss Stanhope, he became suddenly perplexed ;
his colour heightened, and his hesitating accents
betrayed the perturbation of his breast. His uncle
perceiving his confusion, and attributing it to his
reluctance to marry Miss Stanhope, although he
did not suspect his nephew of any intention to de
ceive him, he regarded him with a stern look, and
speaking in that under tone which is so expressive
of deliberate malice, he said, " whatever may be
your thoughts, Henry, on the union I have de
cided upon, tell them not to me ; and beware how
your actions betray a design to oppose my wishes.
You are in the toil of the fowler, and cannot es
cape the mashes that enclose you. You will per
haps tell me, you despise poverty, and are fearless

220 FATHERLESS FANNY J OR,

of my displeasure. But answer me, boy, can you
brave death ? Not your own death, but the ex
tinction of that painted butterfly you doat upon ?"
The Duke involuntarily shuddered. " Yes,"
continued Lord Somertown, " that insect is
in my power, and I tell you she dies, in
stantly dies, should any act of disobedience on
your part call down my vengeance upon her. I
now leave you to your own decision. One step,
one single step of your's will hurl your minion to
destruction !"

Lord Somertown did not wait for the Duke's
answer, but instantly quitting the room, left him
to the meditations his horrible speech had ex
cited.

It is impossible to describe the Duke's feelings,
scarcely, indeed, could he analize them himself,
such a mixture were they of anger and appre
hension, indignation and anguish ; like a lion
struggling in the toils of the hunter, his rage
could only be equalled by his grief at the total
subversion of his power.

In regard to Lord Somertown's assertion, that
he held Fanny in his power, the Duke, however,
flattered himself that it was made only with a
view to alarm him. The protection of Lady Ma
ria Ross, he judged, was too respectable to ad
mit any doubt of her actual safety, at least for
the present, but he knew the cruel vindictive
temper of his uncle too well to doubt that he
would find some mode of revenging himself upon
that hapless girl at some future opportunity,
should any action of his nephew's seem to autho
rise the proceeding. Thus circumstanced, the
Duke was under the necessity of committing
himself to the guidance of Amelia, and to wait in
trembling expectation the result of her scheme
for dissolving the union. It was equally necessary
that he should assume swch an appearance of

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 221

tranquillity as was very foreign to the feelings of
his heart, but which was indispensable if he
hoped to impose upon his uncle.

The time, however, approached with rapid
strides, and no action of Miss Stanhope's seemed
to authorize the hopes she had given.

A thousand doubts disturbed the mind of her
appointed bridegroom, who suffered without dar
ing to complain. She saw, but took no notice of
his sufferings, without it was to add to them by
some little flippancy, some question relative to a
future arrangement, that was made with such an
air of seriousness as never failed to give added
poignancy to his already irritated feelings. She
would then laugh at his " doleful looks," as she
called the appearance of anguish, that in spite of
his best efforts, would steal over his features
whilst suffering under the tortures of prolonged
suspense.

" Your Grace gives me but a melancholy pros
pect," said she, one day," when I try to peep over
the matrimonial pale, by picturing to myself the
felicity of our future conjugal tete-a-letes. That
long face of yours would make an excellent mo
del for a bust of Trophonias. I dare say a week
of your company will have as good an effect upon
my vivacity as a visit of the same length to the
cave of that laughter-quelling gentleman. De
pend upon it, I shall never even smile again after
the holy noose is tied ; so excuse me for making
the best of my time now." And away ran the gid
dy girl, laughing at the poor Duke's distress in
the most unmerciful manner.

At the signing of the marriage articles, the
Duke of Albemarle expected that Amelia would
make the promised declaration of her aversion
to the proposed marriage ; but to his unspeak
able disappointment and surprize, Miss Stanhope
appeared in more than usual spirits on the occa-

10. 2 F

*^® 222 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

P' sion, and introduced a gentleman to witness the
deed by his signature, to whom she said, she had
promised that honour in a frolic, one day, and
who now claimed the fulfilment of her promise
with an earnestness she could not repress. Her
guardian, and Lord Somertown, yielded to what
they supposed a giddy •whim, and Sir Ererard
Mornington (for he was the gentleman,) wrote
his name where the lawyers directed him ; nor did
the Duke of Albemarle perceive any irregularity
in the placing of the other names, although his
Grace appeared to be poring over the fatal in
strument longer than any other person present.

I will not pretend to describe what were his
feelings when twelve o'clock the next day was
fixed upon for his nuptials ; nor attempt to deli
neate the agonized expression of his features,
when he was leading Miss Stanhope into the
drawing room, after the signature of the articles,
she said in a half whisper, " I have succeeded
even beyond my hopes; my happiness is now in
sured ; and I hope to-morrow will appear to your
Grace as it does to me, the harbinger of love and
joy.'1 The Duke endeavoured to make an answer,
but the words died upon his lips, for as he looked
up, he perceived his uncle observing him with fu
ry sparkling in his eyes, and as he passed him,
uttered these words, in an under voice — " I see
your reluctance — your ungrateful delinquency ;
but beware, remember you are passing sentence
upon your minion."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

CHAPTER XXV.

The Nuptials.

A J?TE R a sleepless night, the morning broke upon
the Duke of Albemarle ; no hint had been given
him, by the merciless Amelia, to cheer his flag
ging spirits, and he now began to think himself
the dupe of a mean artifice. "She saw my re
luctance to marry her," said he, mentally, " and
fearful lest my repugnance should surmount
every other consideration, and induce me to de
clare my sentiments to Lord Somertown, she has
stooped to the meanest of disguise to entrap me
securely. The ducal coronet has greater charms
in her eyes than honour or integrity. And shall
I marry such a woman ? No, every feeling of my
soul recoils from the bare idea. How can I listen
to that awful exhortation at the communion of the
sacred ceremony ? " As he shall answer at the
great Day of Judgment!" Can I listen, I say, and
then consent to rush on wilful perjury? Impos
sible ! If, indeed, I am driven to that extremity,
I will throw off the disguise that so ill conceals
my feelings, even at the foot of the altar. But
alas ! what do I rave at ? Lord Somertown will
then wreak 'his vengeance upon the lovely ob
ject of my affection, and transfix my heart with
a far keener shaft than any suffering inflicted on
me alone. Yet surely I shall have time enough
to warn her of her danger 'ere it can reach her."
With thoughts like these was the mind of the

^^

unhappy lover perplexed ; and so absent was he
to every thing relating to the business of the
morning, that he made the whole party wait

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

above half an hour, by neglecting to dress him
self in time. When he arrived at Lord Peters-
field's, where the ceremony was to be performed,
he found all the company assembled, and received
a severe rebuke from Lord Somertown for his
remissness."

" Make the best apology you can to your
bride," said his lordship, " she deserves it of
you, for she has borne your neglect with unparal
leled good humour."

The Duke advanced to take Miss Stanhope's
hand, who stooping forward, said in a low voice,
whilst an arch smile played on her lips :

" For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
f< W as to wedthefair Ellen of young Lochinvar."

The Duke paid but little attention to her
words, however, for his whole frame shook with

agony, when he saw the Bishop of P , who

was waiting to perform the ceremony, open his
book, and heard his voice, reading the awful ex
hortation just now alluded to. A mist seemed
to cover his eyes, and a sickness seized his heart;
for Amelia stood passively, and seemingly assent
ing to the compliance of the sacrifice. When,
however, the Bishop made a little pause at the end
of the solemn exordium, Amelia stepped forward :
" Stop," said she, " that awful appeal to my
sincerity demands a serious answer — you exhort
me not to conceal any impediment that may for
bid my union with Henry Pierrepoint, Duke of
Albemarle, and I know of one that is insur
mountable."

The whole company were struck with astonish
ment ; the Duke's countenance brightened, but
Lord Somertown clapping his hands together,
exclaimed, " Some infernal plot has been natch-
ing, but beware, boy, how you trifle with me /"

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

The Bishop commanded silence by waving his
hand, and then addressed Miss Stanhope.

" This is a strange time, madam," said he, in
an impressive tone, to start objections to a union
to which you have hitherto appeared to assent ;
and let me tell you, with the candour that be
comes my holy function, that you have been
guilty of great levity, in suffering matters to go
so far before you make known your objections to
the marriage we are all met here to see solem-

^7

nized. It is, nevertheless necessary those objec
tions should be known ; 1 request therefore to
hear them."

" I entreat your lordship not to censure my
conduct," said Amelia, " under the impression,
that levity induced me to act as I have done,
since I can solemnly assure you, that I acted
from a far better motive; the marriage which
was to be cemented between the Duke of Albe-
marle and me, was a union of interest, projected
by our friends, without consulting our inclinations,
and from the first moment I was informed of the
circumstance, I determined that it should never
take place. Until very lately, 1 imagined that
my fortune would be the forfeit of my disobedi
ence ; but I have lately been better informed, and
I determined to be revenged of Lord Somertown
for the artifice he had used to deceive me, by
deceiving him in my turn, and making him come
to my wedding without marrying his nephew,
I felt perfectly satisfied that the Duke would
feel no disappointment in losing me, and there
fore I have kept him in ignorance until this mo
ment, for he believed, when he took my hand
just now, that it was my intention to marry him.
That, however, is no longer in my power, as I
was married this morning to Sir Everard Morn-
ington, the banns were regularly published, and
we have been legally married at our parish

226 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

church, as that certificate will shew," producing
one as she spoke.

" One thin^, however,"' said Lord Soinertown,
interrupting Amelia, " one thing however, your
sagacity has overlooked, the signature of the
marriage articles, will at least entitle Henry to
half your fortune, madam."

" No, my Lord," replied Amelia, " it is your
lordship's sagacity that was faulty there ; the
marriage articles that were signed yesterday, were
made in Sir Everard Mornington's name, the
signatures were duly placed, and the deeds sealed
and executed in your lordship's presence, and
ratified by ,>our lordship's sign manual, securing
to him and his heirs for ever, the same proportion
©f my fortune as would have belonged to the
Duke of Albemarle, had the writings been drawn
up in his Grace's name."

Lord Somertown stamped his foot in a paroxysm
cvf rage. The Bishop again waved his hand to
stop the torrent of passion, which he saw ready
to* burst from the lips of the angry nobleman.

" I repeat," said the reverend Prelate, that it
was extremely reprehensible, to defer this ex
planation until now, nor have you yet adduced
any thing in your argument to acquit you of the
levity I censured ; surely madam, this declaration
might as well have been nu>de at the signature
of the articles as at this moment."

a No, my lord," replied Amelia, " I was then
& minor, and some effectual step would have been
taken, to prevent what I have now accomplished ;
I am of age to day, and the first act of my ma
jority, was to bestow my hand where my heart
was already ; I could not with prudence venture
on an explanation sooner, nor could I consistent
with truth defer it any longer ; I shall now take
my leave of this kind assembly, who having met
expressly to celebrate my nuptials, cannot surely

THE LITTLE MEN7DICANT, 221

refuse their congratulations on their happy com
pletion, so much to my own satisfaction; my
husband is waiting for me in a carriage at the

• -

door. F particularly requested him riot to enter
the house, as I feared some altercation might
take place in the firct heat of resentment, which,
on cooler reflection, will, I am sure, be deemed
useless and ridiculous, even by Lord Somertown
himself."

" Lord Somertown," replied that angry noble
man, " will not be so easily appeased as you may
imagine, madam, he will, find an opportunity of
calling to an account the dastardly incendiary,
whose cowardice is now sheltered by the audacity
of his wife."

" Nay, never threaten my good Lord," replied
Amelia, smiling contemptuously, " if you meddle
with Sir Everard, you will find him no cowwd,
the disparity of your ages will insure your own
safety, for he would not lift his hand against an
old man ; but take care how you attempt any brave
expedition against him, you may not be so fortunate
as your father w«as ; in the Kensington Gardens'
affair. Lord Durham fell without investigation
of the cause of his death, by those who had a
right to make it ; but suspicion, with her thousand
tongues, have whispered dreadful things. Come,"
continued she, turning to the Duke, and of
fering her hand to him, with a smile, " you may
safely receive this now, so lead me gallantly
down stairs ;" then turning to the company,
she repeated the last lines of Lady Heron's

song :

" She is won, we are gone over,
" They have fleet steeds that follow, cried young
Lochinvar."

The Duke mechanically took the proffered

228 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

hand, and led the intrepid Amelia to the carriage
that waited for her, whilst the group she had left
behind her stood looking upon each other in
speechless astonishment.

" A thousand blessings attend you lovely Ame
lia," said the Duke, as he assisted Lady Morning-
ton to ascend the dashing vehicle, " a thousand
blessings attend you, and may you be as happy as
you have made me."

" Thank you, thank you," replied she, smiling,
" I am glad you are in a good humour with me
again ; for you have looked so husband-like for
this fortnight past, that you made me hesitate
whether I should become a wife or not."

Sir Everard Mornington received his lovely
bride with rapture, and bowing to the Duke, the
gay barouche, with four beautiful grey horses,
dashed off in the true style of prime driving, and
the Duke returned to the party above stairs.

" You are very humble to your jilt of a mistress,
Henry," said Lord Somertown to his nephew,
" for my part, I would sooner have kicked than
handed her down stairs, she carries things with
a high hand just now, but I will see whether there
is not some redress to be obtained for the insults
she has offered me. There is a great deal of con
nivance in the whole affair," added he, glancing a
look of displeasure at the Marquis of Petersfield,
" but I had no right to expect any thing else
from a Trenlham. The Marquis was a weak man,
and had always felt afraid of Lord Somertown, he
therefore attempted an explanation, but Lord
Somertown refused to listen to it, and ringing for
his carriage, he made a stiff bow to the company y
and left the house. As he was quitting the room,
he turned to his nephew, and said, in a sarcastic
tone, you may accompany me if you please, but
not unless you feel inclined to do so ; perhaps it

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 229

celebrate the nuptials of the Amazonian fury,,
who has just jilted you."

The Duke made no answer to this angry speech
except by following his uncle down stairs.

CHAPTER XXVT.

A Father.

ONE night, when Fanny was retiring to rest,
she found a sealed note upon her toilet super
scribed to herself; surprize, and something like
fear seized her mind as with trembling hand she
broke the seal of this mysterious address ; for
mysterious it must appear, that a note should
be left upon her dressing table in a place where
she knew nobody beyond the walls of the house
she inhabited.

On opening the paper, she found it was from Mr.
Hamilton ; it contained the following words :

" I have kept my word, and am now an inhabi
tant of the house that contains you ; this assertion
startles you no doubt ; but when we meet I will
explain the mystery to your satisfaction. I have
now no doubts remaining respecting who you are,
neither will you, when you hear the wonders I
have to relate to you.

" Be not alarmed at my entering your chamber
to-morrow night, at twelve o'clock, I shall theii
conduct you to an old friend who will convince
you that you are indeed my daughter ; yes, be
loved Fanny, you have found a father in the man
who now uses the name of Hamilton /"

" Merciful heaven !" exclaimed Fanny, lifting

10 2 G

F ATI! lift LESS FANNY ; OR,

up her hands, and dropping the note which had
excited such emotion in her heart. " Can it
then be, that I have found a parent ? All power
ful nature ! it was thy voice that spoke within
me, when first I beheld the author of my being ;
it was thy power that called forth my affection
with such irresistible force, and bid me love be
fore I knew my father ! Alas ! how shall I bear
the agitation that now harrows up my feelings,
for so many hours as must intervene before the
time appointed for our meeting ?"

Full of emotions such as these, poor Fanny
paced up and down her chamber, forgetful of the
waning night, and incapable of calming her per
turbed imagination. Sometimes she felt such an
ecstacy of joy, that she could scarcely flatter her
self the picture her fancy drew of the happiness
awaiting her, could really be a true one. A
doubt would then obtrude itself, that perhaps
this was some artifice to ensnare her, and she re
collected with dismay, that Mr. Hamilton was a
total stranger to her, and that whatever might
be the instinctive affection she had felt for him,
she had yet no certain proof that he was worthy
of the confidence she must repose in him, when
she was called upon to commit herself to his
guidance at the dead hour of the night, and suf
fer him to lead her to some sequestered spot,
impervious to the knowledge even of those who
inhabited the same house.

These were appalling reflections, yet could
they not subdue the impulse she felt to obey the
summons, and learn her origin from the lips of a
soi-disant parent.

After several hours spent in the most painful
agitation, her wearied frame seemed ready to sink
under the combined powers of emotion and
fatigue, and unable any longer to bear up against
their force, Fanny threw herself, dressed as she

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 231

was, upon her bed. A. deep slumber soon sealed
her senses, and she awoke not until the sun had
been some time risen. Her first thought on
starting from her bed, was to look for Mr. Ha
milton's note, which she recollected she had
dropped from her hand in the first moments of
her astonishment at reading its mysterious con
tents. She wished to re-peruse it, as she remem
bered the peculiar manner in which the note con
cluded, where her father said, he now used the
name of Hamilton ; implying that it was not the
one that properly belonged to him.

What Colonel Hoss had said of his pretending
to be a gentleman, and his former assertion, that
he remembered his being tried for swindling, re
curred to her remembrance, and helped to in
crease her perplexity. As she sought for the
note, her eagerness to re-peruse it increased.
What then was her consternation and dismay,
when, having spent about half an hour in the
search, she was obliged to yield to the conviction
that the paper was not to be found. At first her
terror was excessive, as the loss was as unaccount
able as it was unfortunate. That the note had
been conveyed out of her room during her sleep,
was evident, but by whom, was a poir\t it was
impossible to determine, and whoever was in pos
session of that paper, was master of the secret it
contained. When, however, Fanny reflected that
the note had been placed upon her table by an
invisible hand, she concluded that the same per
son had resumed it whilst her sleep had enabled
them to do so unperceived. It was, however, an
unpleasant circumstance to feel at the mercy of a
stranger who could enter her chamber at any hour
he pleased, and even without her knowledge.
She now recalled to mind the circumstance that
occurred the first time she spent the holidays at
Pemberton Abbey, when she had been awakened

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

in the night by the appearance of her Mamma
Sydney, at her bed-side.

The pains that had been taken to convince her
that the apparition was the creature of her own
imagination, or the effect of a dream, had never
been able to eradicate the impression it had made
upon her mind, and she still retained the most
perfect remembrance of the circumstance. She
recollected, too, the mysterious way in which the
visiter disappeared, and the pains Lady Ellin-
court had been at to ascertain whether or no there
was any private entrance to the apartment Fanny
slept in ; the result of the investigation had been
a conviction, that there was no such thing, and
that there was no communication from that room
but through the door that led to Lady Ellin-
court's apartment. The recent occurrence of the
note having been placed upon her table, and
afterwards removed by the same invisible hand,
proved the fallacy of Lady Ellincourt's re
searches, and she now felt convinced that her
infantine .ideas, respecting Pemberton Abbey
being the place of her earliest rei-idence, were
perfectly correct. These reflections strengthened
her reliance upon her newly found parent : and
she longed for the arrival of the important mo
ment, which was to reveal the secret of her birth,
hitherto so darkly enveloped in mystery.

The hour of breakfast now approached, and
Fanny repaired to her toilet to arrange her dress,
and to remove, as much as possible, the traces of
emotion and trouble which had been impressed
upon her countenance. She succeeded tolerably
well, and descended to the breakfast parlour
with a face dressed in smiles.

Lady Maria was already there, and as soon as
Fanny entered, she called out with a good hu
moured laugh, " Great news ! important news in
the London Gazette !"

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 233

" What news, dear Lady Maria?" asked Fan
ny, eagerly."

" Miss Stanhope is married, and the town
talks of nothing else !"

Fanny's countenance fell instantly, as Lady
Maria finished the sentence. " She is no longer
Miss Stanhope then," said she, " but the Duchess
of Albemarle."

" Oh no," answered Lady Maria, "you are not
at all in the secret ; Amelia is married, but not to
the Duke, and there is the mighty wonder of the
story." Lady Maria then read from the news
paper she held in her hand, the chief of. those
circumstances that have already been related
respecting Amelia's coup-de-main, the artifice
of substituting deeds drawn in Sir Everard
Mornington's name for the marriage articles,
instead of those that had been drawn up for the
Duke, was particularly dwelt upon by the news
paper wits, who styled Lady Mornington — Napo
leon in petticoats !"

Fanny felt comparatively indifferent to any of
the particulars, but that which spoke of the rup
ture of the contract between Amelia and the
Duke; that news was doubly welcome now, as
her imagination had already been expatiating in
the field of probability, and fondly fancying that
when her birth was ascertained, it might be found
such as did not preclude the possibility of the
union her heart was most inclined to wish for.

Of Amelia's partiality for Sir Everard Morn
ington, Fanny had been long convinced, and she
rejoiced that her friend's ingenuity had supplied
her with the means of so dexterously substituting
the man she did like for the one whom she had
always expressed the most decided aversion. The
means had, indeed, been such as Fanny could
not have adverted to; but the contrast in the
dispositions of herself and her friend was striking

234 FATHERLESS FANNY; OU,

in almost every other particular, and therefore it
was not surprising that they differed in this.

When Col. Ross came in to breakfast, he said,
e are they any letters this morning?"

u Oh dear," replied Lady Maria, u I declare I
•was so taken up with the newspaper that I forgot
the letters; here are several," added she, "and
amongst them two for you, Fanny."

When Fanny took the letters into her hand,
she recognized the writing of her beloved Lady
Ellincourt on the superscription of the first she
looked at. An exclamation of joy burst from her
lips at the welcome sight, and she retired to one
of the windows to peruse her treasure. What
was her rapture then, on reading the following
words :

" I know you will rejoice my beloved Fanny,
to hear that we shall soon embrace you. We
have taken our passage on board a ship of war,
and are waiting for a convoy. We shall there
fore in all probability soon follow this letter; the
distracted state of this country renders a longer
residence here extremely dangerous. You may
therefore depend upon soon seeing us."

Fanny could read no farther, but running up
to Lady Maria, she put the letter into her hands,
and then burst into tears.

" What is the matter, my dear?" said Lady
Maria, in a tone of alarm.

" Nothing but joy," replied Fanny, smiling
through her tears. " My best friends are re
turning, I shall embrace them once more; I
think all happiness comes together."

As Fanny pronounced the last words, Colonel
Ross cast a penetrating glance towards her, that
confused her.

" Have you any other great cause for rejoic
ing?" said he, " 1 hope you rest your depend-
ance upon sure grounds."

Fanny made no reply, but opening her other let-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 235

for, she pretended to be deeply engaged with it.
It was from Lady Mornington, and written in her
accustomed style of giddiness. After recounting
the particulars of her manoeuvres, which are alrea
dy known, she wrote as follows :

•/

" What does my dear Fanny think of my skill,
as a General ? Should you not suppose that 1 had
studied under the auspices of the little Corsican ?
indeed, 1 am inclined to think J surpass him in fi
nesse — and in stage effect my drama is unrivalled.
I always told you I meant to dramatize Lady
Heron's song, and so I have you see ; Sir Everard
made an excellent young Lochinvar, and he car
ried me off in the true style of romance. A ba
rouche was substituted for the steed, and that was
rather an improvement, as I should not have very
well relished the being jumbled upon the crup
per of a horse, like fair Ellen of Netherby, al
though I felt quite as much inclined to play the
heroine as she could ; and I must tell you who
played their part to the life, too, your friend the
Duke of Albemarle was quite at home in the
character of the * Poor craven Bridegroom,
for he literally said ' never a word.' And
although he could not stand ' dangling his bonnet
and plume,' because he had not got one, he found
an excellent substitute in his watch, which he
took out about ten times in a minute, and consult
ed with as much gravity as if he was feeling the
pulses of all the company. I believe if any body
could have done that kind office slily, they would
have found some symptoms of fever in two or three
of the Bridal throng — poor Lord Somertown in
particular ; 1 really thought the old fellow would
have beaten me. You never saw such a turkey-
cock in your life as he looked, when I made my
daring declaration ; and the good Bishop too, he
was preciously angry, and read me such a lecture
upon levity as would have done me good at
any other time ; but you know the preaching pru-

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

dence to a person who has just married against
her friends' consent, is like a physician prescrib
ing for a dead patient. 1 dare say poor Albemarle
had a sound drubbing when his old uncle got the
child home. By the bye, I think the Duke car
ries his ideas of subordination a little too far,
for he is as much afraid of oifending Lord So-
mertowri as any school-boy is of his pedagogue. I
hope when you have him, you will teach him to
be a little more independent ; but tameness is
unfortunately your failing as well as your lover's,
and so 1 am afraid you will make but a spiritless
couple. I believe we must take compassion upon
you, and give you a few lessons in the science of
independence ; Sir Everard and I are going to
write a book, in concert, and the title is to be
' Nature reversed ; or, the Spirit of England.' By
this treatise we intend to emancipate the minds of
ou r readers from the silly trammels of prejurd ice and
custom ; and shew that children ought to com
mand their parents, tutors, guardians, &c. ; ser
vants their masters, and wives their husbands ;
nay, even the brute tribe will find their advantage
in this benevolent publication, as it will teach a
valuable method of training rats (a certain young
nobleman, it is said, has made this valuable disco
very, that ratsfedupon live kittens and milk, are
a match at close fightingybr the stoutest cat that
can befound! ! !)io kill cats, and thereby deliver
that injured part of the creation from the persecu
tion they have hitherto groaned under. Don'tyou
long to read our learned labour ? But, my dear, it
will take so long composing, revising, and cor
recting, that you must wait longer than I fear
you will like. But however, you shall not remain
uninstructed all that tedious period. We intend
passing the honey moon at this place, namely,
Mornington Park, in Lancashire, and in our way
from hence to London, we design to favour you
with a visit en passantyand then we snail see what

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 237

we can make of you. I make no doubt you will
receive a visit from the Duke of Albermarle, long
before that time; if you should, pray don't forget
to tell him with my compliments, that 1 never saw
him look so anima ed, as when he blessed me and
thanked me at parting for running away from him.
Adieu."

Thus concluded this giddy epistle, and Fanny
could not forbear laughing at her lively friend,
although her heart did not entirely acquit her of
the levity attributed to her conduct by the worthy
prelate who had lectured her.

CHAPTER XXVII.

An Affecting Intermeiv.

FANNY'S anxiety to have the mystery of her birth
elucidated, made the day appear particularly tedi
ous that intervened between her impatience and the
hour appointed by Mr. Hamilton for their nocturnal
meeting ; yet, as the moment approached she felt
dismayed, and almost unequal to the undertaking.
A thousand times was she on the point of making
Lady Maria her confidant, yet something withheld
her from doing so, although the secret trembled on
her lips The idea of meeting a stranger alone
at the dead hour of the night, and confiding her
self to his guidance, to be led she knew not whi
ther, had something truly terrene in it; yet such was
No. 11 2 H

238 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

her eagerness to penetrate the mystery that invol
ved her, and such her instinctive reliance upon
Mr. Hamilton's integrity, that she kept her reso
lution of meeting him, notwithstanding the well-
grounded fears that assailed her. H er stifled emo
tions, however, made her extremely absent, and
Colonel Ross remarked it several times in the
course of the day with some asperity. Once in
deed, he observed in a sarcastic tone, that Fanny
appeared as full of abstraction as if she were on
the eve of some important event.

" One would imagine," said he, "that you were
going to be married ; pray is the Duke of Albe-
marle, or Mr. Hamilton, the happy object of your
contemplations ? Or is it your old friend Lord
Ellincourt?"

" I have been thinking of them all in their
turn," replied Fanny, with a spirit that surprised
herself.

" A confession!" exclaimed the Colonel, "and
pray," added he, drily, " if 1 may ask who is your
nocturnal visiter? Is it either of the gentlemen
just alluded to 1"

Fanny's confusion at this abrupt question was
extreme, and she was wholly at a loss for an an
swer : at length, recovering herself in some de
gree, she said, " As I don't know what visiter you
al'ude to I cannot satisfy your curiosity, Sir, as to
their identity."

" 1 perceive/' replied the Colonel, " that you
understand the heart of evasion, but that is natural
to your sex. However, take my advice if you
will not answer my questions : Beware how you
trust yourself to the mercy of a man of whom you
know nothing but the specious exterior ; and re
member that repentance treads close upon theheels
of imprudence. So saying, Col. Ross went out of
the room, and left Fanny to form what conjecture
she pleased, as to the extent of his information.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 239

Sometimes she was ready to imagine that he
knew of Mr. Hamilton's mysterious note; but she
instantly rejected the idea, because that note had
been but a short time in her own possession, and
must have been conveyed away by the same means
it had been brought thither. Some secret way of
entering her chamber was evidently possessed by
Mr. Hamilton, and with that it was impossible
Col. Ross could be acquainted.

At length the important hour arrived, and Fan
ny retired to her apartment, and sat with a palpi
tating heart, expecting her my sterious visiter. The
large clock over the stables had struck twelve some
time, and yet he did not appear.

As the moment seemed to approach, Fannv's
courage expired; and to such a pitch of terror had
her purturbed imagination wrought itself, that she
was just on the point of flying to Lady Maria's
apartment for refuge from the appearance she now
dreaded, when a crackling noise behind her made
her start and turn round. A large looking glass
was fixed in the jam between the window and the
chimney,its old fashioned frame,curiously wrought
forming the cornice of the compartment, appearing
to have been stationary in that spot ever since the
building of the house, as many of its rude orna^
ments corresponded exactly with the antique cor
nice that bordered the ceiling. The part of the
wall where the glass was fixed, appeared perfectly
solid, not being covered like the other parts with
wainscotting. How great, then, was Fanny's as
tonishment, when she saw the frame open like a
door, and Mr. Hamilton entering from the aper
ture. He advanced towards her, and took her
trembling hand :

" Be not dismayed, my precious child," said he
tenderly; " you are in the guardianship of your
best friend. I can allow for this terror, howevrr;
it is very natural that your gentle nature should be

240 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

alarmed at the appearance of a mystery that in
volves the approaches of your parent. But there is
reason for the caution, as you will readily allow
when you have heard my eventful story. Fear not
to trust yourself to my guidance. I will lead you
to the friend of your infancy, and I doubt not that
her testimony will do away every remaining
doubt.

Fanny passed through the secret door in silence,
and her guide replaced and shut it with a spring:
then resuming the hand of the trembling girl, he
led her, without speaking, down a long flight of
narrow stairs, which terminated in a long passage,
so excessively low and narrow, that it was difficult
in many parts for Mr. Hamilton to pass ; but
Fanny's sylph-like form glided through its most,
acute turnings with ease, while her agitated feel
ings made her movement rapid as the wind.

At length a door opposed their progress; Mr.
Hamilton rapped three distinct times,and presently
it was opened, and they entered a small apartment
through which they passed into one of larger di
mensions, where there were two candles upon a
table.

Fanny now distinguished the face of the person
who had led them in, and to her unspeakable aston
ishment beheld the long forgotten features of her
" Mamma Sydney."

The old lady pressed the trembling Fanny to
her bosom, and sobbed aloud.

" And does my child recollect meat last?"
said she. " Yes, I perceive you do ; those intelli
gent eyes beam upon me with all your mother's
sweetness."

But you look terrified, my love," added the
old lady, in a tone of tender concern. " This agi
tation is too much for the dear child, Orlando,"
turning to Mr. Hamilton; " let her rest herself a
little, before we ask her any questions."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 241

Fanny now seated herself on a chair, between
Mr. Hamilton and her MammaSydnev, and yield
ing to the emotions that oppresed her almost to
suffocation, she burst into tears. Her two friends
suffered her to weep, without interruption, until
the violence of her feelings gradually subsided.

The old lady than began to interrogate Fanny as
to her recollection of herself, and those who sur
rounded her, prior to her being placed at Miss
Bridewell's

Fanny related what she had before said to
Lady Ellincourt, the first moment of her visiting
Pemberton Abbey, about her Mamma Sydney,
whose image was so forcibly recalled to her re
membrance by the apartments she had been wont
to inhabit with her. She mentioned too, her ter
ror at seeing her MammaSydnev in the middle of
the night, whilst sleeping near Lady Ellincourt, in
the very same apartment she nowinhabited, and de
scribed the pains Lady Ellincourt took to ascer
tain whether there was any secret entrance to the
room, concealed in the wainscoting, and the result
of that investigation. " I have often tried, since
that period," said Fanny, "to persuade myself
that my terror had proceeded froma dream, but, al
ways found it impossible to divest my mind of the
certainty that impressed it, of my havingseenyou,
madam. Lady Ellincourt was so thoroughly con
vinced, from the examination of the apartment that
nobody could enter it, exceptingthrous:li her room,
that she always treated my account of your appear
ance as the effect of fancy, aided by a dream. How
often have the conjectures arising from my reflec
tions upon that puzzling subject, beguiled me of
my rest; and [ have been attimes, almost tempted
to believe, that what I had beheld was a superna
tural being."

" The mystery is now cleared up," replied the
,Qld lady, " as far as relates to the apparition; for

242 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

/ indeed appeared to you, and pressed your rosy
cheek with my lips, before you was conscious of my
approach; — that imprudent action awakened you;
and the shrieks you uttered imparted the terror I
had occasioned you to my own heart."

" But tell me, dear and honoured madam," in
terrupted Fanny, with a look of earnest supplica
tion, " O tell me who you are, and give ease to my
agitated heart, by informing me who I belong to :'
and as she spoke, she turned her expressive eyes
swimming in tears, upon Mr. Hamilton.

He arose, and taking her in his arms: "My
Jimil5r! my murdered Emily ! exclaimed he, press
ing the weeping girl to his bosom ; " yes, thou art,
indeed, my daughter! every feature in that lovely
face recalls thy sainted mother "

" I have then no mother T' faintly articulated
Fanny, then dropping on her knees at the feet of
her newly found father, she clasped her hands
together, and raising her streaming eyes to his face,
she exclaimed, " Receive, then, most honoured of
human beings, the homage of an affectionate heart,
that has long panted to embrace its parents. I have
only one ! Oh, let me then bestow on that one, the
duty and affection due to both."

Mr.Hamilton raised the lovelygirl andembraced
her. " What a moment is this!" said he. " Me-
thinks I hold myEmily once more to my bleeding
heart! And so I do: for although you my child,
are not named after your unfortunate mother, it is
impossible to behold you, and not be struck with
your resemblance to her. The name of Fan ay was
given you in preference to Emily, 'the better to
conceal you from your cruel persecutors. It has
had the desired effect ; and my child is preserved
to bless her doating father ; and I shall yet see her
assert aright to the rank of her ancestors, and rise
superior to the malice of her enemies. But time
wears, and I forget that my child is anxious to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 243

know the elucidation of the mystery that now veils
her birth:-— the story is mournful; but she for
whose sake your tender heart will weep at the re
cital, has long ceased to suffer, and we must look
for her in the realms of bliss, not in this dreary vale
of sorrow and disappointment, Keep this in mind,
my love, and let it soften the anguish your filial
tenderness must inflict upon you, during the re
cital of the tale of woe : —

CHAPTER XXVIII.

4^

A Mournful Story,

" MY mother was the sole heiress to an immense
fortune,with the title and estatesof aDukedom en
tailed upon her eldest son. Her mother.was sister
to Lord Somertown, and it was always the design
of that avaricious and vindictive nobleman to unite
his son to my mother. She was accordingly kept
very much secluded in the early part of her life,
to prevent her forming any attachment beforeLorcl
Sheldon returned from his travels, This very pre
caution, however was the occasion of her doing so, .
for in the retirement she lived in with her gover
ness, she became acquainted with my father, who

was then just inducted into the living of D ,

the village adjacent to Cauington Park, the seat
where my mother resided.

244 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" Whether the governess countenanced the at
tachment, 1 cannot tell ; but be that as it may, the
consequence was a clandestine marriage, and when
Lord Sheldon came home to claim his bride, she
confessed herself already the wife of another.

" It is impossible to describe the rage and fury
of Lord Somertown, when informed of his niece's
delinquency. He vowed the most unrelentingven-
geance, and immediately took every step to punish
Mr.Evelyn, her unfortunate husband, and distress
Lady Lucy, that was my mother's name. A pro
cess was commenced against him in the court of
Chancery, for stealing an heiress; and although by
the testimony of my mother, it was proved beyond
a doubt that the act was entirely her own, and his
life thereby preserved ; yet the expences incurred
by the law-suit ill agreeing with his narrow cir
cumstances, he was thrown into prison, where he
languished the remaining years of my mother's mi
nority. Nor was her confinement less rigid then
her husband's, as she was kept a close prisoner by
her inexorable guardian, and every motion strictly
watched, lest she should convey any assistance to
my father.

" My birth, which happened a few months after
the discovery of the fatal secret, increased my
mother's distress; and the terror lest I should fall
into the merciless hands of her uncle, nearly proved
fatal to her during her lying-in. I escaped the jaws
of the lion, and was conveyed by a faithful servant
of my mother's to a safe asylum.

" My father had a sister who was married to a
Mr.Hamilton, but who together with her husband,
was abroad at this trying moment. To her my fa
ther had written an account of everything relating
to his unhappy marriage, excepting his pecuniary
embarrassments; a gaol being preferable in his
eyes to the idea of dependance. His pathetic des
cription of Lady Lucy's situation, and his account

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 245

of Lord Somertown's cruelty, alarmed his sister,
and she wrote immediately to a friend she could
rely upon, and desired her to find means to inform
my mother that there Was a friend, she might safe*
ly trust, ready to receive her child, should she wish
to place it out of the reach of her cruel uncle.

" My mother most thankfully embraced the of
fer ; and 1 was accordingly torn from my weeping
parent's bosom, and conveyed to the asylum that
had been prepared for me.

" Lord Somertown was outrageous when he
found his victim had escaped him ; and he spared
no pains nor expence to find out my retreat. In
this, however, he was disappointed, for my watch
ful friend had me conveyed to my aunt, at Jamaica,
as soon as iny tender age admitted of my under
taking such a journey. There I remained until my
mother came of age, at which period she effected
her escape from the confinement in which she had
been kept upwards of four years.

" The first use she made of her liberty, was to
restore that of my father; and they were re-married
at St. George's, Hanover-square, in the most public
manner possible. The immense fortune to which
they now acceded promised them every enjoyment
this life can afford ; but all their pleasures seemed
imperfect, whilst separatedfromtheirbelovedchild.

" My aunt, at this time, returned to England,
and came to reside at this very house.

" In this place I was first conscious of the em
braces of my parents, and had I no other reason,
that single recollection would endear Pemberton
Abbey to my heart. I was soon however, removed
to the splendid seat of my ancestors, and became
the prime object of solicitude to all those that
rounded me, and I must here candidly confess, that
had the sunshine of prosperity continued uncloud
ed, the very essence of my being would have been
lost in slothful inanity of mind, and the best feel-

11 2 i

246 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

ings of my heart stifled by a selfish regard to my
own convenience. But I was intended for a life of
trial, and my sufferings commenced at an early
period. My mother who had always been extreme
ly delicate, died when I was no more than twelve
years old, and my father was immediately involved
in a chancery suit, by a claimant to the estate and
title to which I was lawful heir. Lord Somertown's
malice to my mother, which survived her, induced
him to support the claim of this pretender, and as
his lordship had taken care to destroy the evidences
of Lady Lucy Darnley's first marriage with Mr.
Evelyn, which had been celebrated with all its pro
per forms, and the banns regularly published, by
suborning the clerk to tear the leaf containing the
register out of the church books, the marriage could
not be proved, and I was bastartised by my own
mother's uncle, and our cause fell to the ground.
My father's grief and distress may be imagined.
It took such an effect upon his health that he sur
vived my mother only two years. Destitute as I
now was of fortune and rank, I yet never wanted a
friend; my uncle, Mr. Hamilton, received me into
his house, and treated me like his son, and from
that time I assumed his name, A secret hope al
ways pervaded my mind that Lord Somertown's
heart would be touched with remorse for his in
justice to me, and that he would restore me to my
just rights, by permitting the man to return who
had been sent abroad by his means, and whose
testimony as a witness to the marriage would have
been sufficient to reinstate me in the privileges he
had deprived rne of.

" In this expectation, however, I was deceived :
his malice still pursued me, and although he did
not know that I had assumed the name of Hamil
ton, nor been able to ascertain what asylum shel
tered me, his endeavours to penetrate the mystery
never relaxed, until a report of my/leatb being in-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 247

dustriously spread by my friends, his lordship re
joicing in theextinction of his enemy, deemed him
self happy in the consummation of his wishes; the
present Duke of Albermale's father was then the
possesser of my just rights, and Lord Somertown
who stood in the same relationship to him as to my
mother was afterwards appointed guardian to his
son, the present Duke, by his will made on his
death- bed. Of my relationship, or connection with
Mr. Hamilton, Lord Somertown heard nothing, as
he had always been too proud to investigate my fa
ther's family ; and the report of my death preclud
ed suspicion. I grew up, therefore, in the neigh
bourhood of his family seat without his ever enter
taining an idea of my existence. When I was
about nineteen, 1 came home for the summer vaca
tion from Oxford, and Mr. Hamilton received me
with more than usual satisfaction in his counte
nance.

" 'I am far from despairing,' said he, 'of seeing
you restored to your just rights, if your inclina
tions should lead you to second my wishes ; but
remember, beforel communicate what those wishes
are, 1 disclaim all intention of putting the least
force upon your affections.'

" I was at a loss to guess what this prelude was
to lead to ; but my good uncle soon put the matter
past a doubt, by telling me that Lord Somertown
had a grand-daughter that resided with him, who
was the most beautiful creature he ever beheld,
but whose birth was attended with such circuni-
stances of misfortune, that it is but too probable
his lordship may find it difficult to marry her to
his satisfaction. * You, added my uncle, * are
supposed to be my son : your fortune in that case
must be immense. Lord S. does not suspect who
you really are, and as no reasonable objection can
be made, either to your family or fortune, in your
present character, 1 intend to propose the alliance,

248 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, ,

provided you should be as much enchanted with
the lovely Emily as I am ; if you are accepted, it
will be an agreeable surprise to Lord S — to find,
when you have married his grand-daughter, that
you are the lawful heir of such rank and fortune as
that which certainly belongs to you, nor do 1 en-
tenain a doubt that he will immediately produce
such proofs as will re-instate you in > our rights.'

" This scheme appeared so romantic, and my
dislike to Lord Somertown was so deeply rooted in
my heart, that I could scarcely have patience to
hear my uncle to the end of his speech; when he
paused, I said: You leave me free to do as 1 like,
my dear Sir, said I, and therefore 1 decline having
any thing to do with such a wretch as Lord S — ;
let him keep his malice, and leave me my resent
ment, I could not love a grand-daughter of his, I
am sure, were she as beautiful as Hebe. Vain
boast! of the fallacy of which I was soon after
made sensible. The lovely Emily was kept in such
seclusion, that it might almost be styled captivity;
all the privilege she enjoyed, beyond the state of a
prisoner, being the liberty of walking sometimes in
her grand- father's park, and even that indulgence
was restricted to an early hour in the morning.
During these rambles she was attended by the go
verness who had brought her up, and who doated
upon her. Jt chanced one morning in the shooting
season, that I strolled near the precincts of Shel
don Park; my dogs sprung a covey of partridges,
who, in their flight, made towards a small inclo-
sureadjoiningtothepark gate, theinterior of which
was screened from my view by a plantation of young
trees. With the eagerness of a young sportsman
I discharged my gun, and was preparing to climb
the fence in search of my game, when loud shrieks
from within, filled me with consternation and dis
may. I scarcely knew how 1 got to the spot from
whence they proceeded ; but when I reached it, my

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 249

terror was increased, rather than diminished, for I
beheld a female figure stretched on the ground,
covered with blood, and apparently lifeless, whilst
another was bending over her in an agony of terror,
not to be described. I too plainly perceived that I
was the unfortunate cause of the accident, and L
hastened to offer my assistance to the distressed
lady. She raised her head to thank rne, and dis
covered a countenance in which was drawn the
strongest picture of grief I ever beheld.

" * My beloved child,' exclaimed she -is wound
ed, I fearmortally, let me entreat you, Sir, to assist
me in conveying her to the Porters's lodge, which
is not far from hence.' I stooped to lift the young
lady from the ground; her hat had fallen off, and
her face was shaded by her redundant looks : but
when, with the assistance of the elderly lady, I
raised her from her lowly bed, heavens! what a
beauty struck my senses. Pale as she was, with
disshevelled locks, and hergarments stained with
the crimson stream of her blood; yet was she the
most lovely object I had ever beheld. My heart
died within me, as I bore the lifeless burden to the
place her governess had pointed out to me, for I
firmly believed she had breathed her last. When
we reached the Porter's lodge, the lovely Emily,
(for it was herself,) was laid upon a bed, and a
man dispatched on horse-back to fetch the nean st
surgeon, a distance of three miles. I will not pre
tend to describe the agony I suffered during the
time the sweet girl remained in a lifeless state. I
stood the very image of despair, close to the door
of the chamber in which she was laid, waiting the
sentence of my future happiness or misery. At
length I had the unspeakable joy of hearing the
delightful exclamation from her attendants, that
she revived; and shortly afterwards my rapture
was increased by the silver tones of her own su r<>t
voice, inquiring were she was. Her governess

2"M) FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

then came to me, and assured me that Miss Hin-
chelifle (that was the name my Emily bore,) was
much better, and that she could venture to pro
nounce, without seeing the surgeon, that the
wounds she had received, were of no material con
sequence.

" My joy was now as extravagant as my grief
had been acute, and I was almost in a delirium,
from the excess of the emotion I had suffered.
When the surgeon arrived, his testimony con
firmed Mrs. Bolton's favourable opinion, for he
pronounced the wounds which were in the fleshy
part of the arm not at all dangerous, and assured
us, that the fainting fit, in which the lovely Emily
had lain so long, was occasioned by terror more
than by loss of blood.

" Time will not permit me to dwell on the events
that followed this accident, by which I was intro- '
duced to thearbitress of my fate, and became ena
moured of the very woman, I had declared to my
uncle I could never love.

"The distress I had shewn on this occasion, ex
cited an interest for me in the heart of the beau
teous Emily ; at first, the excuse of enquiring after
her health, and entreating her to forgive the injury
I had so unwillingly done her, served to apologize
for the liberty I took in way-laying her morning
rambles; by degrees she appeared to expect my
visits, and soon ventured gently to reproach my
negligence, if by any accident I was later than
usual in making my appearance. Mrs. Bolton,
who longed for the emancipation of her pupil from
the tyranny she groaned under, gave every encou
ragement to my addresses, and by this imprudent
act, laid the foundation for the future misery of
the person she loved best in the world. To be
brief, our attachment was mutual, and we ex
changed vows of unalterable fidelity to each other:
I now entreated my uncle to make the proposal to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 2J1

Lord Somertown, he had before suggested, explain
ing- to him at the same time, the cause of this sud
den change in my opinons. My uncle shrugged
up his shoulders and sighed.

" ' How perverse is human nature,' said he,
' what is attainable, we always despise, whilst those
things that are beyond our reach, are generally the
objects of our wishes. At the time I proposed the
alliance to you, there appeared no impediment to
the union; youthen was averse to the proposal, and
I let the subject drop, little supposing you would
happen to wish to renew it at a moment when I am
convinced it is impossible ; Lord Somertown's in
flexibility to all endeavours at thwarting his will,
is almost proverbial ; whatever he has said shall
be, is like the laws of the Medes and Persians,
' which altereth not/ An attempt therefore to
turn him from his designs'isreallyakinto madness.
1 have just learnt, from undoubted authority, that
there is an alliance for his grand-daughter now on
the lapis ; the lover is Lord Ballafyn, of Ballafyn
Castle, in Ireland, and as he has never seen the
lady, it must be the fortune the grand-father has
promised her, that is the object of his affections.
I \v as struck dumb by this intelligence, and almost
ready to sink into the ground. As soon as I had
recovered myself a little, however, I entreated my
uncle not to let a vague report, which mi^lit orig
inate in the fertile brain of some gossiping match
maker, deff-r him from making the proposal I was
now so eager about; adding with all the san
guine confidence of a youthful lover, that as my
fortune exceeded that of Lord B. it was more
than probable, if money was Lord Somertown's
object, he might be inclined to favour my suit
in preference to his Lordship's. My uncle shook
his head ; but, nevertheless, promised to make
the application, He did so, and was rejected
in themost positive termsby LordSomertown, who

252 FATHERLESS FANNY;

assured him that Miss Hinchcliffe was disposed of
already; 'she knows nothing of my intentions as
yet,' added his Lordship sternly, ' but it is time
enough ; when she knows my will, she must obey
it. I am therefore in no doubt about what she may
think of the proposal. Her business is to obey, not
to question. When my uncle conveyed this fatal
news to me, my agony was beyond expression, and
it was a long time before I could give utterance to
my feelings; when J did speak, it was only to re
new my vows ofnever marrying any body butEmily.
My uncle intreated me to abandon all ideas of so
mad anintention, and recalled to my remembrance
the sorrows of my unfortunate parents, as well, as
those of the hapless Emily, This argument had
no effect, however, with me ; misery appeared in
no way so certain as in a separation from her I
loved ; and could I but obtain the object of my af
fection, the world appeared a cheap price to pay
for such an inestimable treasure. When I had an
opportunity of conversing with Emily, and im
parting my sentiments to her upon her cruel situa
tion, it was some consolation to me to find her as
willing as myself to brave the frowns of the world,
and the dangers of poverty, rather than relinquish
the sweet hope of being united. The same roman
tic affection inspired us both, and under its dan
gerous influence we acted so as to entail irremedi
able evil on ourselves and our offspring. Lord So-
mertown had not the least suspicion of our attach
ment, and imagined thatmy uncle's proposal, whose
son he supposed me to be, had been made for the
alliance with a view of aggrandising his family.
This unfortunate blindness on Lord Somertown's
part was but too favourable to our secret corres
pondence, and we continued to meet without hin
drance or suspicion. At length the dreaded pro
posal was made, in person, by Lord Ballafyn, and
•rdslup introduced toEinily, who was inform-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 253

ed by her grandfather, that she mast look upon his
Lordship as her future husband, without a single
question being asked her, whether he was agree
able to her or not.

" The day after this dreadful meeting, my be
loved Emily appeared in such distress and terror
of mind, that it drove me almost to madness, and
in the insanity of the moment, I proposed a clan
destine marriage to her. There is not, said I. any
dangerof our union being set aside, if we can once
accomplish it, as I am of age; and it will be easy
to get the bands published without Lord Somer-
town's knowledge, who never goes to church.
Emily listened to me with complacency, and I soon
prevailed with her to consent to the measure, which
was immediately adopted ; I gave.a very large sum
of money to the clergyman and also to the clerk,
and by that means obtained the secrecy I wished
for ; the former had a great impediment in his
speech , which defect he managed so dexterously
as to render our names totally unintelligible to the
congregation. Our being asked in church was un
noticed, a circumstance that was Considerably as
sisted by several other couples being asked at the
same time. Not long afterwards, during a short
absence of Lord Somertown from Sheldon Park,
we were married and fondlyflattered ourselves that
we were now safe from the tyranny we dreaded :
alas ! we had for ever riveted the chains thatbound
us, and given our enemies a power to hurt us they
could not otherwise have possessed. About three
months after our marriage, Emily received orders
to prepare herself to become a bride, and she was
directed to make the necessary purchases for her
nuptials. It was in vain, that the poor girl implor
ed her inexorable parent to listen to her for a few
minutes; he spurned her from him, telling her that
no reply was necessary on her part, as she had no
thing to do now she knew his will, but to obey it,
11 2 K

254 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

' Lord Sheldon/ said he, ' is coming from Saxony,
whither he had been sent on a diplomatic mission,
and when he returns your marriage will take place
immediately. Lord Ballafyn intends being here
the latter end of this month, and I desire, as you
value your future happiness, to clear up that dis
mal countenance, and receive him in a manner suit
able to my wishes.'

" Poor Emily could make no reply to this pe
remptory command, but quitting the room as i'ast
as her trembling limbs would permit her, she sought
the refuge of her own chamber, and there, on the
bosom of her faithful friend, Mrs. Bolton, she pour
ed fourth the anguish of her heart; the terror and
agitation the sweet girl suffered on this trying oc
casion, brought on a most alarming illness, and for
many days her life was despaired of, Think what
must have been my sufferings when I knew that
the beloved object of all my hopes, in this world,
lay at the point of death, and I did not dare to ap
proach her pillow, to whisper one word of tender
consolation in her ear. The kind-hearted Mrs.
Bolton did all she could to mitigate my anxiety,
and gave me regular information three or four times
a day; and every night, duringmy Emily's extreme
danger, Iwratched beneath her window, disguised
in the course frock and slouched hat of a plough
man; who being frequently employed to watch the
poachers, excited no suspicion by being seen lurk
ing about in the dead of the night.

'•' At length the sweet creature was restored to
my prayers, and I received the heart-soothing tid
ings of her safety and amended health. This joy
ful event was followed by another, which appeared
to promise us the confirmation of our happiness ;
I mean the death of Lord Somertown, which hap
pened suddenly, just before Lord Ballafyn's ex
pected arrival. I will not repeat the gay visions
of happiness that floated on my brain when Ih<ju;'.i

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 255

of an event so propitious to our hopes of liberty,
as I never entertained a fear that Lord Sheldon
could resemble his father so closely as 1 have since
found, to my sorrow, that he did.

" The death of Lord Somertown put a stop to

all ideas of the proposed alliance with Lord B

for some time; and as the new Lord was still de
tained abroad by his diplomatic functions, Emily
was left for several months to follow the bent of
her own inclination. It may easily be supposed
that it was the society of her husband she would
seek, under such circumstances; and many a half
gone hour have we spent together, in these very
apartments, whose private communications with
Pemberton Abbey had been but lately discovered
by a servant of mine, who informed me of it, and
shewed me the secret spring that closed the mys
terious pannel. As a reward for so valuable a dis
covery, I settled fifty pounds a year upon the man,
and gave him that small house to live in : and, with
the assistance of his wife and the worthy Mrs.
Bolton, whom you have hitherto known by the
name of your Mamma Sydney, your beloved mo
ther, in this secluded asylum, gave birth to a love*
ly infant, who was immediately baptized by the
name of Fanny. And such were the precautions
adverted to, on this occasion, that notthe slightest
suspicions were awakened among the domestics,
at Sheldon Park, who were all, excepting one con
fidential servant, wholly ignorant of my Emily's ab
sence. As soon as her weakness would permit,
she returned to her home, but you was left here
with your nurse, the wife of my servant.

" We now awaited Lord Sheldon's return, with
the utmost impatience, as we had come to the re
solution of declaring our, marriage to him at the
first interview. Alas ! had we known the horrors
that would be the consequence of his return, we
should have, fled to some distant climate, while the

256 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

possibility of flight remained within our power.
Such, however, was our infatuation, that we dreamt
not of our danger until the dark cloud of irremedi
able misfortune burst over our devoted heads, and
crushed us for ever. But 1 will not dwell upon
this dreadful part of my narrative.

" As soon as Lord Somertown arrived in Lon
don, he wrote to his niece, to inform her that the
nuptials, which he was sorry had been so long
delayed on his account, should be solemnized im
mediately ; and that it was his intention to be at
Sheldon Park in ten days, from the date of his
letter.

'' When Emily communicated this unwelcome
news to me, my mind suggested the propriety of
immediately informing Lord Somertown of our
marriage, and intreating his sanction to it, as I
judged it would only exasperate him the more, to
suffer him to come (down in the country under such
erroneous ideas.

" I accordingly wrote to him upon the subject,
with an eloquence that would have moved any
heart but his own; his answer was couched in
terms the most friendly, and contained only a very
slight stricture upon secret marriages, which he
said, were but too often the cause of much unhap-
piness in families, adding, that he hoped our's
would not prove of that description. His Lord
ship requested my immediate presence in Lon
don, as he said, it was necessary we should have
some conversation together, previous to his visit
ing the country, and he concluded his letter with
every assurance of the most cordial friendship.

" This was so much above my hopes, that I
was in ^xtacies, and my Emily was several times
obliged to check my transports. Indeed, her ap-'
parent apathy soon moderated my joy, for I saw
she did not seem to exhilarate as 1 did ; and if any
hing could have made me angry with that angel, I

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

should have been so on that occasion ; for I was
disappointed at her coldness.

"Alas! her's was a presentment of evil, which
the subsequent events too soon justified.

" To be brief, 1 tore myself away from the
dearerpart of my soul, and commenced my ill-fated
journey, fullof the most pleasing expectations,little
imagining I had seen my Emily for the last time.
When I arrived in London, I waited upon Lord
Somertown immediately, and was received with the
utmost cordiality. As soon as the first compli
ments were over, I began speaking upon the sub
ject of the settlements, and as ray uncle had autho
rised me to do, 1 made the most liberal offers.
Lord Somertown seemed rather to evade than
press the subject, and he once said, \vith rather a
mysterious air, 'there are some circumstances with
which 1 am acquainted, that perhaps you do not
suspect are known to me ; on some future day we
will talk upon those matters, as I should wish the
real rank of the man my niece marries should be
known to the world.' 1 caught at this insinuation,
and assured his lordship, that from that moment I
could have no secrets with a friend so nearly allied
to me. 'Not now,' said he, nodding insignificantly,
* but the time is not far distant when the confi
dence will be mutual,'

*' There was something in Lord Somertowri's
manner of pronouncing these words that did not
please me; yet, as I could not make any objection
to what he said, I was obliged to be silent.

" I wrote an account of this interview lo my
adored Emily, and also to my uncle. A few days
after this 1 received a note from Lord Somertown,
requesting me to dine with him at his villa on the
banks of the Thames, near Richmond, as he had
some business to transact with me of the utmost
importance. I obeyed the fatal summons with
alacrity, and reached the appointed place just as
dinner was readv.

258 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" Lord Somertown welcomed me by a cordial
shake of the hand, assuring me that 1 had made
him happy by this ready compliance with his re
quest ; ' and I trust,' added he with a smile, 'that
you will confess before we part that I am not jour
debtor. Every thing is arranged for your future
wellfare in a manner that cannot fail of success.' I
understood by this speech, that Lord Somertown
alluded to rny claims on the title and estates of
Albemarle, and I expressed my warm sense of his
kind attention to my interest.

" Say not a word about it,' answered he, * you
cannot judge how muck you are obliged to me,
until you know what I have done for you — The
dinner waits, let us defer business till that is over,
1 followed the Jicnd into the dining parlor, we
dined tete-a-tete, but as the servants waited, not a
word passed during dinner. After the cloth was
removed I adverted to the subject of our former
correspondence, but Lord Somertown pressed me
to take some wine with such eagerness, thai I could
not refuse: glass after glass was forced upon mef
which 1 swallowed much against my inclination,
merely to get rid of his importunity. .

" 1 did not at first perceive that Lord Somertown
wras not drinking himself, for my mind wasso occu
pied with theideas that crowded upon it, that I had
scarcely any perception of what was passing before
me. When however, J did observe it, I declined
drinking any more.

" Your Lordship,'* said I, laughing, " has a de
sign upon me, for you are making me drink, whilst
you are abstaining from wine yourself. ' There
may be reasons,' answered he, * that may render
it more necessary for you to take wine, than would
stand good for me : however 1 believe you have
taken enough, added he, emphatically, 'and there
fore you may do as you like about having any
more.'

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 259

" There was something very mysterious in Lord
Somertown's manner, but as I had no suspicion of
his malice to me, it excited my curiosity without
alarming me.

" After conversing for some time longer upon
indifferent subjects, and studiously avoiding the
one I wished to lead to, Lord Somertown, after
looking earnestly at his watch for some minutes,
suddenly started up — ' It is time,' said he to drop
the mask of dissimulation; the drug I have ad
ministered must have taken effect, and I should
lose half of my vengeance if my victim remained in
ignorance of the hand that inflicted the blow.

" As Lord Somertown spoke, I involuntarily
rose from my chair, and a vague presentment of
the truth came over my mind, at least of Lord
Somertown's malice to me ; for 1 thought he had
administered poison in my wine. I was mistaken
— death was too merciful a doom to be awarded
by the monster, to the man he hated ; the drug
was intended to render me inanimate, and by sus
pending my powers, to make me the easy victim
of his deep laid scheme. Too certain in its ef
fects, I already felt the all-subduing influence
creeping over my frame ; and whilst horror and
resentment struggled at my breast, my unnerved
limbs trembled beneath my weight, and almost
refused to sustain me, whilst I listened to the
sentence pronounced by my arch enemy.

" ' Know,' said he, in a voice trembling with
rage and guilt, 'know unhappy wretch, that I am
acquainted with your origin ; yes I am informed
that you are the offspring of that proud beauty
who scorned my proffered love, and of my de
tested rival, whose insidious arts made her forget
her duty, and rendered her blind to the superior
merit that sued for her affection. My father hated
your parents, and I inherit his hatred with his
title; your mother eluded my vengeance by death

260 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

—your father also escaped me, but their offspring
ismine, and I shall have glorious revenge; J see
your senses are becoming torpid, through the in-
fluenceofthedrugyouhaveswallowed, 1 will there
fore hasten to inform you that you are doomed to
live, but to exist in such astate of wretchedness that
death would be a mercy. Remember your mi
sery flows from me: Oh! forget not that circum
stance, or I have but half my vengeance; your
wife, too, my degenerate neice, who has dared to
unite her fate to that of the enemy of her family,
shall have an equal portion of suffering — let that
reflection gall you, added to the anguish of per
petual slavery ; the manner of her punishment I
will not tell you, for suspence and doubt aggra
vate affliction of every kind: know- this only, she
shall wed another ?

The drug had begun its operation indeed, and
a torpor not to be resisted was creeping over my
whole frame, yet when Lord Somertown pro-1
nounced the last fatal words — ' she shall wed
another,' my expiring senses were awakened,, and
the fury that transported my soul inspired one
last effort of strength : I flew, and seized the col
lar of my insulting foe, but whilst I held him
struggling in my grasp, he contrived to stamp
with his foot, and several of his creatures came to
*%is assistance. I was easily secured, for the short
lived energy had already subsided, and my stif
fening limhs, and stupified senses overpoweredme
more than the united strength of the bravo es.-

"From this moment I remembered nothing
more, until I found myself confined in a narrow
inconvenient recess, which appeared intended for-
a bed ; but the cruel ways in which my hands and
feet were manacled, prevented me from stretching
myself upon it, so as to obtain any rest. Impene
trable darkness enveloped me, but the constant
splashing of water close to my head, convinced

THE LITTLE MENDICANT:

me that I was upon the sea, in some vessel, des
tined by my persecutor to convey me far from that
happy land, where unjust imprisonment is forbid-
den by the laws.

At first I was at a loss to account for my
wretched situation, but by degrees my recollection
returned, and the dreadful truth flashed on my
awakening senses; It is surprising to me at this
moment that phrensy did not seal my wretched
ness, for I remembered the dreadful words, 'she
•shall wed another;' and in the agony they excit
ed, I attempted to tear off the manacles that con
fined me; the effort I made was attended with so
much noise, that it brought one of the ship's crew
to my little cabin.

" What's in the wind now?' exclaimed he in a
rough tone, * you had better be quiet my hearty;
you will be wrorse off if you don't mind what you
are about: and considering the crimes you have
been guilty of, it is no great matter.'

" ' Crimes,' reiterated I, ' what crimes can pos
sibly be laid to my charge, who never injured any
one ?'

" ' You did not do what you wished to do,' re
plied the tar, 'but that was no thanks to you/

'"Tell me, I entreat you," said I, ' of what am
I accused?'

" * Ohj you have forgot if, have you?1 answer-*
ed he, * that's comical too, by jingo. Well then,
I'll rub up your memory a bit. Don't you re
member when you attempted to kill your uncle,
Lord Somertown ?'

" ' I attempt to kill Lord Somertown,' inter
rupted I, ' Heavens what a falsehood ; 1 never
even dreamt of such a thing!'

'' ' Why, as for that, you know best,' replied the
tar,' ' but it argufies very little now to deny it. I
should think it rather unlikely such a thing should
be invented of an innocent man; but the short

No. 1-2 *2 L

262 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

and the long of it is, that your uncle says- you did
so, and out of compassion to you, and to save the
disgrace of having you hanged, he had you con
veyed on board our vessel, whilst you were dead
drunk ; for when you found your wicked intention
was frustrated, you took a quantity of laudanum,
in hopes to escape your deserts, but it was not
enough to kill you, and as the affair was bio wed,
you must have been prosecuted if your good uncle
had not sent you beyond seas. We shall land
you as soon as we find a convenient place, for we
don't want the company of murderers in the Blithe
Betsey, 1 can assure you; but we will take care it
shall be where you are not likely to get away from
again/

"The agony of my mind at this intelligence may
easily be imagined. At first I gave way to des
pair, and vented my anguish in exclamations of
sorrow ; but recollecting how fruitless was such
weakness, I determined to subdue it. Whilst life
was spared me, escape was not impossible, and
when I thought upon the cruel situation of my be
loved Emily, it awakened such an ardent desire
to rescue her, that it gave a supernatural strength
to my mind, and supported me through the se
verest of trials.

"As soon as my informer could be prevailed
upon to listen to me, I told my plain unvarnished
tale, and laid open, to the honest seaman, a train
of iniquity, that shocked his simple nature. He
Avho had been taught to hate me as a murderer,
now pitied me as an oppressed victim of the
blackest treachery.

" He determined upon my deliverance, with all
the ardour of increased benevolence, and unloos
ing the manacles that confined me, as a pledge of
his future services, he bade me be of good cheerr
for that lie was certain his captain, v\ho, though
cougli as the element he ploughed, was generous

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 263

and humane, would scorn to be the implement of
oppression in the hands of a tyrant like Lord ISo-
mertown. He had been prevailed upon to take
charge of me for a large reward, under the sup
position that he was doing an act of mercy to a
culprit, who merited death, by giving him a chance
of living to repent his crimes, at the same time he
was saving a noble family from the stigma of being-
allied to a felon.

"As soon therefore as my new friend JackThom-
son had repeated my melancholy story to him, and
removed the prejudice that had hitherto kept him
from speaking to me, I was ordered into his cabin,
and received from Captain Armstrong the credit
my narrative deserved. From that moment 1 was
free, and treated with the same kindness as his chief
mate, who was also his nephew. The generous
Armstrong was, however, bound to the coast of
Africa, and as I was eager, beyond expression, to
return to England, that I might ascertain the fate
of her who was dearer to me than my life, he kind
ly promised to put me on board the first vessel we
should meet with, bound to my native shore. 'And
when you get there my friend,' said he, 'keep
close under hatches, or hoist false colours to de
ceive the enemy, until Roger Armstrong returns to
his moorings, then never fear but we will work him
pretty tightly. Your testimony will argufy nothing
without a witness : you had better therefore be
mum until you can jaw him to some purpose.

264 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

CHAPTER XXIX.

An Affecting Story continued.

"Two days had only elapsed, after this promise,
before a vessel spoke to us, consigned to London.
The terms of my passage homeward were soon
agreed upon, and paid for by the generous Arm
strong, who also supplied me with a small sum for
my present emergency,and took leaveofmewith the
kindness of a brother, recommending the greatest
caution in concealing myself fromLordSomertown,
whose determination to destroy me could not be
doubted, and who would now have double reason
to wishmy extermination. I thanked him, and, pro
mised to attend to his advice : I therefore purcha
sed a complete sailor's habit, and thus disguised
might have passed my nearest friend without sus
picion.

" These precautions were, however, of little
avail, for as we were sailing with a fair wind, and
within a few leagues of our native land, we were
attacked and captured by a French Vessel, of such
superior force as made all resistance on our side
vain.

" My story, in this, presents but little variety,
Aprisoner, unaided by money, undistinguished by
apparent rank, I suffered the severest hardships;
nor could I procure my exchange, although I wrote
several letters to my uncle, Mr. Hamilton, describ
ing my situation, and entreating his assistance : to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 205

these letters I received no answer, and fourtedious
years rolled away in hopeless captivity. At length
two of my fellow prisoners, whose fortunes appear
ed as desperate as mine, proposed to me to attempt
an escape. We did so, and succeeded, and after
encountering perils that would have disheartened
minds less determinedupon emancipation, weland-
ed upon a lonely part of the coast of Sussex, h.iv-
ing been several days buffetting the waves in an
open boat, without provision, without a compass,
andin momentary danger of perishing fromhunger
and fatigue, if we even escaped the stormy ocean.

"The joy so naturally the consequence of such
.anescapewasconsiderablydiminishedinmybreast,
by the dread that seized me, as 1 reflected upon
the forlorn state in which 1 left my beloved Emily,
when I was torn from my native land by her bar
barous uncle. My heart died within me as I
. thought upon what she might have suffered, and
tears and sighs succeeded to the effusions of joy
that broke forth at my first landing,

" My fellow sufferers and I were relieved from
the pressure of our hunger and nakedness, by a be
nevolent gentleman, whose hospitable mansion re
ceived us for one night. This amiable man, whose
vicinity to the sea-side exposed him to frequent ap
plications from shipwrecked mariners, \va^ the
greatest philanthropist on earth; he dedicated the
chief of his fortune to the relief of his fellow crea
tures; and always kept warm cc arse cloathinginhis
house, to bestow upon the half-perished creatures
that were so often thrown upon his mercy by the
storm and tempest. Clad in a complete suit of
this comfortable apparel, and supplied with a small
sum for my present necessities, I took leave the
next morning of my benevolent host, and pursued
my journey towards the metropolis, so much d:s-
guised in my appearance, that, had not hardship
and long suffering already altered my coimtt'iianee,

•266 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

it would have been impossible for any one to re
cognize me.

** When I arrived in London T made several en
quiries, concerning the family of Lord Somertown,
but could learn nothing more, than that he was
in good health, for little was known at those places
where I could venture to enquire, concerning the
interior management of his family. I did not there
fore make any stay in town, but hastened to reach
my native home, not doubting that 1 should find
all the relief I stood in need of as soon as I reached
my reputed father's house. Alas! how miserably
was I disappointed, when I arrived there, weary
and almost sinking with fatigue and sorrow, to
find it shut up, and to hear the heart-breaking in
telligence from the only domestic that inhabited
the forlorn pile, that grief for the loss of his only
son had effected Mr. Hamilton's health and spirits
so severely, that lie had quitted England, and was
gone to reside abroad entirely.

" I had nearly sunk on the ground when I heard
the cruel tidings, but fearful of making a discove
ry of myself, at a moment when concealment was
become more important than ever, I commanded
my emotions therefore, and enquired whether this
little mansion was still inhabited by the same per
son that occupied it five years before; the servant
answered in the affirmative, and I bent my footsteps
hither. Without discovering myself, . I enquired
of my faithful servants if they knew what was be
come of Mrs. Bolton, at first they hesitated, but
Franklyn happening to look earnestly in my face,
uttered a scream and exclaimed, 'Good Heavens!
can it indeed be my beloved master ;' disguise
was now useless, and I acknowledged myself to
. him, intreating him to be prudent, and not let my
arrival be suspected ; he promsied to obey my com
mands, and after having forced me to take some
refreshment, he satisfied my curiosity without eas
ing: my heart.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

" [then found that Mrs. Bolton was the secret
inhabitant of Pemberton Abbey, where she acted,
the part of aliiother to my beloved child. ' Oh
shew me to her,' said I, ' she can tell me some
thing of my adored Emily, whose beauteous image
I am dying to embrace.'

" ' Alas ! alas!' said the faithful Franklyn, * the
news Mrs. Bolton can tell you of Lady Emily will
not give you pleasure, would to God you were
never to hear it.' This speech only rendered me
more impatient to hear my doom: — ' What is
there/ exclaimed I, ct'iat can surpass what my
own terriiied imagination now suggests. To be
brief, I was introduce d t 'irough the subterraneous
passage into the Abbt y, and left in one of its deso
late apartments, whilst Fraaklyn went to prepare
Airs. Bolton for my reception.

" The good woman came to me with streaming
eyes, and spreading out her arms, embraced me
with the affection of a parent. For some minutes
her sobs choaked her utterance, but as soon as she
could speak, she exclaimed, 'Oh! my friend, you
have come too late to save our Emily! 'She is
dead then !' said I, sinking into the seat that stood
nearest me. ' Oh no she is not dead, death
would have been a mercy compared to the anguish
she has suffered.' ' Tell me, oh tell me the
worst, said I, ' my mind is prepared for horror/

" ' Your Emily is married then,' answered she,
whilst a torrent of tears burst from her eyes.
' She is married, or rather tied, to a tyrant whose
cruelty no sweetness can soften, no gentleness
subdue.'

" My a-: -.my was now without bounds, and for
several iiiUiutes I was in a paroxysm of rage and
distraction: At first view of my unfortunate situa
tion, I was inclined to throw some hlam eon Emily.
'Ah where,' exclaimed I, • was that faith so often
ph:d-efi to aie, that love which she so solemnly'

208 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

had vowed should never change? Surely had
they existed with their wonted firmness, no threats,
no persuasions could haveinducedher to renounce
me! she would have preferred death to such an
infidelity !

"'Blame not that faultless creature,' replied
Mrs Boltou, ' for she is a martyr to the most ex
alted virtue, and her affection for you, her undying
tenderness for your memory., could not be more
strongly proved than by the action that made her
the wife of Lord Ballafyn. She had been imposed
upon by an account of your death, and when sunk
in the afflicton that belief entailed upon her, the
preservation of the dear pledge of your love alone
couldronseher to any regard for what was passing
in a world she no longer wished to remain in; hut
for the sake of that sweet innocent : what then
must have been her agony, when she was informed
bv her cruel uncle, that he held her darling in his

v o

power, and that a compliance with his proposals,
and implicit obedience to his commands, could
alone insure its safety. The wretched mother lis
tened with horror to the dreadful alternative —
the dissolution of soul and body could not have in
flicted a severer pang than that which wrung her
heart, when obliged to choose between the sen
tence of death for her infant, or misery for herself.
Maternal tenderness triumphed, and the lovely
victim was led to the altar in mute agony to seal
her wretched doom, and complete the triumph of
diabolical revenge.

" Before the inauspicious nuptials, however, she
insisted upon the possession of her child, which
was accordingly delivered to her,and by her confid
ed to my care, with the most solemn injunction to
conceal it in some place of security from the know
ledge of Lord SomertoAMi, whose vengeance she
still dreaded, and on whose promises she could
place no reliance : My knowledge of the secret

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 269

inlet to Pemberton Abbey, made me choose that
for my asylum, and Mr Hamilton's consent being
obtained, I retired either, unsuspected and un
known; nor has it ever been supposed, since Mr.
Hamilton's absence, that any one inhabited that
mansion, excepting the servant left to take care^f
it, whose superstitious fear of the wing I inhabit,
.which is reported to be haunted by a man dressed
in complete armour, effectually secures me from
any interruption from her.

" ' Where then is my Emily,' cried T, in a tone of
agony, ' oh tell me where she is, that I may fly and
snatch her from the tyranny she groans under, I
will assert my right to her, although legions of in
fernal beings guarded the access to her prison!'

" ' Immediately after her nuptials/ replied Mrs.
Bolton, ' the angelic sufferer was dragged to Ire
land by the unfeeling man who had married her —
there she had been immured ever since in an old
castle belonging to her tyrant, without even the
consolation of a single friend's conversation to re
lieve the tedium of captivity ; and during the space
of three long years, I have received but two letters
from her; the lastcontains only a few lines, and ar
rived a few days ago; it came through the medium
of Franklyn.' Mrs. Bolton took the letter from
her pocket book, and I eagerly snatched it, read
these words : —

'* ' My kind Friend,

" 'Accept the best thanks a broken heart can of
fer for the care you take of my treasure; I am
obliged to withdraw it from you for reasons that I
dare not name; fear not to trust it to the care of
the person I shall send for it, who will tell you a
secret known only to us three, and thereby prove
her identity." E- H.

12. 2 M

270

FATHERLESS FANNY; OF,

CHAPTER XXX.

The Affecting Story concluded.

"AND is my precious child gone then? said Ty
" shall 1 not even embrace her."

" She is still with me," answered Mrs. Bolton,
" and lam happy you came before her removal, it
will be a great satisfaction to me." — So saying, the
worthy woman led me to the apartment that con
tained my blooming treasure.

" I willnot dwell upon that scene, the emotions
excited by rapture, mingled with extreme anguish,
were too much for my agitated frame, and delirium
was the consequence; for several days, Mrs. Bol
ton attended me, with scarcely a hope of my re
covery ; at length, however, my youth triumphed
over disease, and I was restored to health of body,
but not to sanity of mind ; and the wild project of
visiting Ireland, to emancipate my injured Emily,
became the darling object of my every wish, and
the fixed determination of my soul.

" There was so much method in the madness
that affected me, that Mrs. Bolton was not aware,
of the danger of my situation, and she suffered me
to depart on my wild expedition, without opposi
tion. How 1 found my way to Ballafyn Castlefc
I cannot now tell, but certain it is 1 reached it>
notwithstandingthethousand difficulties thatseem-
ed to oppose so perilous an undertaking.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 271

" The result of the attempt, however, was an in
crease of wretchedness. Lord Ballafyn, had been
apprised 1 believe of my existence, by somestrange
chance ; and I was suspected, as soon as observed
to loiter near the castle; by a stratagem, 1 was
induced to enter its walls, and by its base owner,
betrayed into the hands of ruffians, who conveyed
me on board a ship that was lying at a neighbour
ing port, waiting to receive recruits for the West
India Service. In this receptacle of misery, I was
stowed down in the hold with a set of unfortunate
beings, who had been inveigled, or rather kidnap
ped by the wretches employed to procure them for
a service, no man would enter voluntarily.

" I will pass over all the sufferings of the voy
age. Alas ! I was not sensible to all their poig
nancy, for mental imbecility threw its friendly
cloud over half my sorrows, and for many weeks,
I was almost unconscious of my existence.

" In our way to the Island we were bound to, our
vessel touched at Jamaica, and there the yellow
fever breaking out amongst our ship's crew, we
were landed for the recovery of our health ; I en
tered the hospital amongst the rest, and stretched
upon my wretched pallet, was expected hourly to
expire.

" An English gentleman of large fortune, who
resided on the island, had long made it his custom,
in imitation of the benevolent Howard, to dedicate
not only his fortune but his time, to the divine task
of mitigating the sufferings of his fellow creatures.
He visited the prisons, the hospitals, in short, every
species of wretchedness, and no fear of infection, no
considerations of personal safety, could for an in
stant, impede his beneficent exertions.

" This philantrhopist, this friend of the human
race, visited my forlorn pallet, little imagining the
reward prepared for his benevolence. Yes, my
sweet girl, his angelic goodness was re warded for

272 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

in the person of the forsaken sufferer hehad visited
from motives of pure humanity, he found a long
lamented and still tenderly-beloved nephew.

It was my worthy uncle, Mr. Hamilton, whose
godlike charity led him to my succour, when the
lamp of life was just expiring and my sufferings
and my wrongs were just sinking into the vale of
oblivion ! !

" The tenderest care, the most unremitting so
licitude, joined to a skill in the treatment of the
disorder, rendered superior to all others from the
wisdom of experience, soon conquered my bodily
indisposition; but, alas! the distemper of my
mind lay deeper rooted, and long, very long did
it baffle every tender effort made by my more than
father, for my restoration.

"At length, when he had nearly relinquished
all hopes of my recovery, my reason was restored
to me. and J had the inexpressible delight of once
more embracing my truly paternal friend.

" Heavens, what a scene followed ! It is impos
sible to paint the indignation felt by Mr. Hamilton
whilst he listened to the recital of my wrongs,
Not all the humanity that filled his worthy heart,
could prevent him from wishing to bring to con
dign punishment the abandoned author of my
woes.

" He madeimmediate preparations for returning
to England, determined to lose no time and spare
no expence in order to expose the villany of so
daring an outrage upon the safety of civilized so
ciety. But, alas! a premature death put an end
to all these projects.

" My dear uncle was seized with a fever, caught
by Ms too close attendance upon one of the unfor
tunate objects of his bounty, and a few days ter
minated his valuable existence.

" Before he expired, however, he secured all
his possessions to me, and left me as rich and as

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 273

wretched as he had been himself, before the exer
cise of philanthropy had raised him above the
world he inhabited, and fitted for a better.

" A relapse into my former malady was the con
sequence of the grief I felt at my uncle's death.

That kind friend had foreseen the probability of
such a misfortune, and provided accordingly for my
safety, and the security of my fortune in case of such
an event, by appointing two gentlemen my trustees
whose integrity he could rely upon. They fulfilled
his expectation ' and by their humane attention I
was preserved during three melancholy years,
from the miserable consequences of occasional in
sanity, and at lergth, restored to the full posses
sion of my senses, and all the enjoyment of my
fortune I could now hope to experience.

"My most earnest wish was now to return to
England, for my lacerated heart panted to enquire
after my Emily and her offspring. Mr. Barlowe
one of my trustees, opposed me, however, and en
treated me to wait until the enquiries, he had set on
foot relative to the objects of my anxiety, should
be replied to. Alas! the result of those enquiries
gave the death blow to my hopes. My Emily, 1
found, was no more; her beautified spirit was now
become an inmate of the Heaven for which her
sorrows had so perfectly prepared her ; and my
lovely infant, Mrs. Bolton wrote me word, had
been conveyed to France, by the lady to whom my
Emily had confided her, and that notwithstand
ing all the inquiries she had since made after the
sweet innocent, she had never been able to obtain
the slightest information, although she had strictly
followed the directions given her by the lady who
took her lovely charge from her, and who styled
herself Lady Betty Molineux. ' As no reason
was ever assigned for taking the dear child from
my care', said Mrs, Bolton, in her letter, ' 1
think the action never could be the free will of my

*274 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

sweet Emily; she Would not have wounded a
heart so truly, .so long' devoted to her service, with
out explaining the motives of such a proceeding ;
I have looked at both her letters on the subject of
the child's removal, and compared them with
others in my possession, and every time I examine
them I feel more and more convinced they are
forgeries.

" ' From this belief I am inclined to fear the
dear child is fallen into the hands of the inexorable
enemy of her family. But you can travel, my
good friend; seek her, therefore, in France, you
cannot fail of knowing your child by her likeness
to her mother.

" 'You are supposed dead by every one. Your
inquiries cannot alarm the most vigilant suspicions.
Go and prosper.

" I followed my friend's advice; but without
success. I resided several years in France ; tra-
relling from place to place, still cherishing the
hopes of finding my darling, but still meeting dis
appointment.

" About a year ago I returned to Jamaica,
on some business of importance, and there met my
kind friend; Mr. Barlowe.

" In speaking to him, one day, on the subject
next my heart, I dwelt upon the fruitless search I
had been making after my lost daughter. He
then related to me a story of a friendless girl, who
had been placed, in a mysterious manner, at the
school where his daughter had been educated ; and
the description he gave of your person, age, and
the time of your being placed at school, corres
ponded so exactly with my own narrative, that I
lelt assured 1 had found the long-lost jewel.

"I hastened to England, and found my hopes
confirmed, by Mrs. Bolton, who related the cir
cumstances of her nocturnal visit to your chamber!
soon after you became the protege of your near
relation, Lady Ellincourt.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 2175

" She told me she had written to me on the sub
ject during my stay in France; by some chance
however, the letter had never reached me, and
thus my sorrows had been protracted. 1 had the
mortification to find that Lady Ellincourt and her
son had left England, and Mrs. Bolton at first
imagined you had accompanied them, This opi
nion proved erroneous, for I soon afterwards found
you in London.

" You must remember our first meeting."

" I do, indeed," replied Fanny, '• and the
strange unaccountable emotions of my heart, when
first the sound of your voice struck upon my ear.
My dear, dear father," continued the lovely girl,
dropping on her knees before her parent, " receive
your daughter's fond assurance that every moment
of her future life shall be devoted to you. Oh
may heaven, in its infinite mercy, grant that my
tender assiduities may succeed in soothing your
deep-felt sorrows, and awaken a gleam of joy, to
gild the evening of your day! "

" Sweet recompense for all my sufferings." said
Mr. Hamilton, "a treasure richer than expression
can impart! Ah! where is sorrow if thou art mine?
or, shall I murmur at aught that is withheld whilst
thou art restored to me? I have but little more to-
relate of my story.

"As soon as I had convinced myself that you
were indeed my daughter, I wrote to Lady Ellin-
court upon the subject, and received the kindest
answer possible. Her ladyship entreated me, how
ever, to keep the matter secret, until her return,
-and to act with caution respecting Lord Somer-
town, who, though advanced in age, has not
grown in goodness. I have followed her ladyship's
advice, without ever losing sight of my darling,
whose footsteps have been closely watched by an
anxious father, ever since he was so happy to find
her.

276 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" Lord Somertown does not suspect my exist
ence; for my face is so much altered it is impo's-
sible he should recollect me, particularly as he
supposes me dead so many years ago, for the re
port of my having died of the ye'low fever had
been carried to Lord Ballafyn, by the Captain to
"whose care he consigned me.

"I had one evening, the pleasure of terrifying
my cruel enemy, by speaking, in mv own voice,
close at his ear some words that struck with deep
remorse his guilty soul, and made him shrink, ap
palled at the dreadful warning, whilst terror pal
sied his tottering frame, he fell on the ground, in
capable of ascertaining from whence the voice
came.

" 1 had, therefore, plenty of time to escape; and
to this moment he supposes the words were utter
ed by some supernatural being.

" When, therefore, I found iry precious child
under the protection of so near a connection of her
bitterest enemy, I determined to act with the most
scrupulous circumspection, and to forbear making
known my claim until the return of Lord Ellin-
court and his amiable mother should render my
darling's situation secure, during the time neces
sary for the investigation that is to restore her to
her rights in society; that happy moment ap
proaches, for Lady Ellincourt is expected every
day"

" I know it," said Fanny, interrupting her father,
" I have received a letter from her own dear hand,
announcing that blessed news."

. " Lord Ellincourt," replied Mr. Hamilton, "has
married a daughter of Mr. Barlowe, my old friend
and trustee! and in her person, my sweet girl
owns another sincere friend."

"I owe to Emily Barlowe's kindness," said
Fanny, " all the happiness 1 now enjoy, for her
bounty saved me from the cruel fate, Miss Bride
well had destined me to', I should certainly have

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 277.

been sent to the workhouse, but for her kind inter
ference."

" My child has been the peculiar care of Provi
dence/' answered Mr. Hamilton, " through every
eventful period of her life, and to that divine arid
unerring protection do I still commend her.

" May the seraph that watches over innocence,
still hover near to keep tny darling, until her fond
father can acknowledge her to the world.

" I must now re-conduct my Fanny to her cham
ber, for the night wears apace ; and although the
interest of my story has kept you waking, I can
plainly see the traces of fatigue upon your coun
tenance. Return to you rest my child, and may
the blessing of a father seal your slumbers ; I shall
not see my dear girl again, until J come to claim
her, for I am going to set off for London by the
dawn of day, to meet the Ellincourt's on their ar
rival, and to arrange matters for the important
changes that must take place; Mrs. Bolton will
accompany me. So saying, Mr Hamilton embraced
his daughter, who then clasped her arms round
Mrs. Bolton's neck, and sobbed her adieu.*'

" What shall I do said the sweet girl, with the
newly awakerted feelings of my agitated heart?
How conceal them from the penetrating eyes of Co
lonel Ross? " You must keep in mind," replied Mr.
Hamilton, "that he is the brother of Lord Balla-
fyn, and the friend of the cruel persecutor of your
sainted mother, as well as your fond father's bit
terest enemy Surely these reflections cannot fail
of producing the necessary caution."

Mn Hamilton now led Fanny back by the same
Way she had come, and having seen her safe through
the mysterious pannel, bid her a final adieu.

It was in vain that the agitated girl threw herself
upon her bed, sleep under the impressions thatnow
filled her mind, was impossible; and morning sur
prised her, before she had closed her eyes for. a.

12. 2 N

278 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

single instant. She arose therefore from her pillow,
and employed the intermediate time between that
and breakfast, in removing as much as possible,
the traces of fatigue and weeping from her counte
nance. She succeeded better than she expected,
and descended to the breakfast parlor, with toler
able composure ; the day past without any mate
rial occurrence, and Fanny retired at an early
hour to her chamber, under the plea of a bad head
ache, that she might renovate her exhausted spi
rits, by a good night's rest.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Consternation.

IT has already been observed, that Fanny inhabit
ed one of the suite of apartments belonging to
Lady Ellincourt, and that consequently she was
a considerable distance from any room that was
occupied ; this recollection had been a consola
tion to her whilst engaged in her nocturnal visit,
as her absence from her chamber was less likely to
be discovered.

On the morning following Fanny's early retreat
to her pillow, Lady Maria Ross was surprised at
her not appearing at breakfast, although the usual
hour was long past. " 1 cannot think what is be
come of Fanny,'' said her ladyship to the Colonel,
" she is never so late as this, do ring and desire
the servant to enquire for her," The Col. rang the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 279

bell ; •" I dare say," said he, carelessly, " she is
gone to take a romantic stroll this fine morning.
The girl's head is half-turneij I believe with some
lover;" whentheservantappeared, ' desiremy wo
man to enquire for Miss Fanny," said Lady Maria,
" and tell her that breakfast waits." The servant
presently returned, ' Miss Fanny's door i&fastened,
said he, ' and Mrs Brown cannot make her hear.*
" Lady Maria started up from the table, the dear
girl is ill," exclaimed she, " and I am to blame for
suffering her to sleep in that desolate part of the
house/' So saying, Lady Maria madeimmediately
to Fanny's apartments, followed by Colonel Ross,
and the servants, on whose countenances were im
pressed the most lively symptoms of terror."

" Lady Maria called aloud upon the name of
heryoung friend, but without receiving any answer.
Let the door be immediately forced, " exclaimed
her ladyship, "some fatal accident has befallen my
beloved Fanny." Colonel Ross smiled; she is
gone to take a walk I dare say," said he, sarcasti
cally, " such sentimental ladies love rambling of a
morning." "But why thenshouldherdoorbe fest,"
enquired her ladyship ; " oh! she has locked it to
conceal some half finished love ditty," answered,
the Colonel, " depend Upon it all this fright is for
nothing."

Lady Maria paid but little attention to what her
husband said, and the proper implements being
brought, the door was broken open: but what was
the consternation of all present, when, upon enter
ing the chamber, it was found empty, and frpm the
state of the bed it was evident that Fanny had ne
ver been into it. Several things lay scattered about
the apartment in confusion, and on the ground lay
one of the bracelets she had wotti the preceding
evening; Lady Maria picked it up, the clasp was
bent us if a heavy foot had trodden upon it, and
crushed it. " The dear girl has been forcibly

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

dragged away," said her terrified friend, as she
examined the bracelet. Alas! my dear Fanny,
what may have been your sufferings when you
dropped this !

" What romance has your ladyship been read
ing lately ?" said the Colonel, "• affecting to laugh,
though it was evident he was much agitated. If
the girl is gone, depend upon it she went willingly.
For Heaven's sake who do you think would take
the trouble of dragging her away against her
will ?

"But, for my part, I cannot imagine how she
got away, unless, indeed, it be by the window; for
you see the other door is fastened on the inside."

" The window would then have been open,
said Lady Maria, so ihat conjecture must be er-
roneous."On ex aminingFannysdrawers,it appear
ed plain that several articles of her apparel had
been taken out of them with apparent hurry, for
those left within were rumpled and displaced. A
small blacktrunk too, that used to stand in the room
was missing, and from all these circumstances, it
was evident that Fanny was gone, and had taken
some clothes with her, and by that it appeared that
she was not unwilling to go, or she would not have
made provision for her flight. But whither or how
she was gone, it was impossible to conjecture, al
though every one's mind suggested something, ei
ther probable or improbable, to account for her
strange disappearance. Amongst the servants, it
was confidently believed, that she had been spi
rited away by some supernatural power ; and a
thousand stories were reported of ghosts and gob
lins that had formerly been said to haunt Pem-
berton- Abbey. Nor was the circumstance of Fan
ny's terror, on the night she was visited by Mrs.
Bolton, forgotten amongst the relation of wonders.
The servants all agreed that the ghost had then
visited the child as a token that it meant to fetch

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 281

her away as soon as she should be grown to wo
man's estate ; and before the shades of evening
had gathered around them, the impression of self-
created terror was so strong upon their minds,
that none of them would venture to go singly into
any part of the house."

Lady Maria's terror was not inferior to that
which dismayed her servants, although she felt
no belief that Fanny had been torn from her by
any supernatural agency. The fate of one she
loved so tenderly, thus strongly involved in mys
tery, filled her amiable heart with anguish, and
she wept incessantly, without being able to con
jecture what could become of her, or to suggest
any probable means of recovering her.

" There appeared no probable, nor, indeed,
possible means of her having left her room, as
both the doors were fastened on the inside, unless,
indeed, there were some secret entrance to the
chamber; an idea which the lately revived story
of the nocturnal visit Fanny had received, in that
same apartment, when a child, seemed certainly
to warrant.

" The examination of the wainscot, however,
by the best carpenter they could procure, turned
out just the same as a former one had done, when
resorted to by Lady Ellincourt, to elucidate the
mystery that at that time filled Pemberton- Abbey
with dismay.

The Colonel, during the whole of the bustle,
affected the utmost unconcern. "The girl is so
artful,'' said he, " that I am not surprised at any
contrivance of hers to throw an air of mystery
over her departure. She has run away with
some of her gallants , and, no doubt, imagines
her story wi,ll make a fine novel, by and bye,
when the miracle of her having been conveyed
away through the key-hole, comes to be added to
it. That adventurer, who calls himself Hamilton,

*28'2 FATHERLESS FANNY 5 OR,

has been seen in this neighbourhood .within
lew days: and, you may depend upon it, she is
gone with him, for she was stark mad about him
before we left London."

" And will you not send to trace the fugitives?"
asked Lady Maria, " or, at least, to ascertain
whether Fanny is indeed, gone willingly 1

" Not I, indeed," answered the Colonel,
'•' Girls, such as Fanny, are not so scarce, that
men need risk their lives to obtain them. She went
willingly, or she would not have gone at all, and
therefore I deem her not worth seeking after."

Lady Maria was deeply hurt at her husband's
apparent apathy, and although she could not
make him do what he ought to have done, for
the recovery of her favorite friend, she secretly
employed several of her neighbouring farmers to,
make diligent search for her beloved Fanny.
These enquiries, though made with the pincerest
wish to succeed, were however fruitless; not thv
smallest light coiild be thrown upon the subject.
and a whole week elapsed, without Lady Maria
being able to obtain the smallest atom of intelli
gence.

In the mean time, Colonel Ross was making
preparations for his departure for Ireland, to
wrhich place he now expressed himself very im
patient to set out, and although he received a
letter from Lord Ellincourt, announcing his arri
val in London, and his intention of visiting Pem-
berton Abbey, in the course of two days : the
Colonel refused to stay to receive his lordship,
but set off on his journey, the very day Lord El
lincourt was expected, leaving an apology with
Lady Maria, for his friend ; alledging as an ex
cuse, that he had received a very urgent letter
from Lord Ballafyn, to request his immediate
presence in Ireland.

In a few hours after Colonel Ross's departure,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 283

Lord Ellincourt arrvied at Pemberton Abbey,
Feeble indeed, would be any attempt of mine, to
describe the rage and distraction that seized his
lordship, when he heard, the fatal tale of Fanny's
disappearance; Lady Maria was perfectly terri
fied at his violence.

As soon as he would permit me to speak, she
mentioned Colonel Ross's supposition that Fanny
had been taken away by Mr. Hamilton. " It is
al se," exclaimed Lord Ellincourt, " it is basely
alse, and Ross knows it is so. I saw Mr. Hamil
ton yesterday, in London, and I am the bearer of
a letter from him, to his daughter: for such is the
unfortunate Fanny, to that amiable man."

ct No, no," continued his lordship, " not heeding
the astonishment he saw pourtrayed upon Lady
Maria's features, no, no, if she be spirited away,
it is by the vile Somertown, or some of his mis
creants, and by Colonel Ross's sang-froid in this
dreadful affair, I suspect he knows something of
the plot, bufeby heavens, they shall soon know that
they have roused a lion, when they angered me,
and 1 will make them produce my Fanny, or by
heavens,! will shoot every mothers 's son of them. I
will immediately return to London, and set on foot
a search, which shall find the lost jewel, if they
have hid her at the antipodes/'

It was in vain that Lady Maria endeavoured to
persuade Lord Ellincourt to take any refreshment,'
he would not hear of it. He just took a survey of
poor Fanny's forsaken apartment, made a cursory
examination of the servants, and jumping into his
carriage, he returned full speed to London, leaving
poor Lady Maria overwhelmed with grief, terror,
and astonishment.

284

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

CHAPTER XXXII.

Elucidation.

IT is now time to return to Fanny, whose disap
pearance from Pemberton Abbey, must have ex
cited the reader's curiosity, and perhaps some de
gree of sympathy.

On the night this mysterious circumstance oc
curred, it has already been said that Fanny,
fatigued by the preceeding night's watching, had
retired early to her chamber to seek the repose she
stood so much in need of. . It was Fanny's invari
able custom on entering on her apartment for the
night, to offer up her prayers and thanksgivings to
her Maker. Whilst employed in this sacred duty,
she was startled bv the creaking of the misterious

*/ o

pannel, and rising from her kneeling posture, was
surprised to see it partly open. Yet notwithstand
ing her surprise, she was not alarmed, as she con
cluded that her father had forgotten something
lie wished to mention to her, and had commis
sioned Mrs. Bolton to acquaint her with it. She
drew near the opening, therefore, without appre
hension, for she imagined that Mrs. Bolton not
being so strong as her father, found some difficul
ty in removing the barrier that opposed her en
trance, and Fanny put out her hand to assist hen
What then was her terror and dismay, when she
saw two horrid looking men enter at the aperture,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 285

and immediately felt herself seized by them, and a
handkerchief tied over her mouth, to prevent her
from giving utterance to her fears.

Come Miss, said one of the wretches, as you are
so fond of Midnight vagaries, fegs, you shall have
enough of them. I suppose you thought your
self mighty cunning, but you see there are some
folks as cunning as you. Struggling and almost
dying in the rude grasp that held her, Fanny had
still resolution enough to keep herself from faint
ing, and by a strenuous effort, succeeded at length
in removing the handkerchief from her mouth,
sufficiently to ask what they intended to do with
her. "Oh, you are only a going a little journe\ with
your old beau," replied one of the men, laughing,
" where's the trunk?" continued he, turning to his
comrade, " did not Mabel say she had packed it
up ?" Yes, yes," replied the other ruffian, " it
stands in yonder corner; if you will take the young
gentlewoman down, I will bring the trunk,"

At these words the other man seized Fanny in
his arms, and was taking her through the pannel,
when by a dexterous struggle she got from him,
and running towards the window, began screaming1
aloud. This lasted only for an instant, for she
was immediately seized, and the handkerchief
placed in such a manner over her mouth, that she
found it impossible to remove it. " You oblige us
to be rough with you Miss," said one of the men,
" so if you don't like it, you may thank yourself
for it."

She was now wholly overcome by terror, and
was carried along the narrow passage through
which she had passed the night before into the
house, where she had been acknowledged by her
father, without making an attempt to escape from
her persecutors, or even uttering a groan When
she arrived at the apartment where she had listened
to Mr. Hamilton's interesting narrative, she was*

No. 13. 2 o

280 FATHERLESS FANNY; Off,

met by an elderly woman, who reprimanded the
men for the violence they seemed to have used to
wards their charge. " Well, then why did she
not come along quietly," said one of the men, " she
must have seen it wras of no use to try her strength
with us, but you may do as you please with her
now, for nobody can hear her in this place, let
her bawl ever so."

The woman now removed the handkerchief, and
seating Fanny on a chair, endeavoured to soothe
her, whilst the men returned to her forsaken apart
ment to fetch the little trunk, which had been pre
pared by the woman for her departure, and which
contained a sufficient change of linen, &c. for the
journey she was about to take ; these things had
been taken from Fanny's drawers, by the woman
these men called Mabel, and whom Fanny rightly
supposed to be the person Mr. Hamilton had said
was formerly a servant of his, and who had been
placed there at the commencement of his unfortu
nate marriage,in order to facilitate the meetings be
tween himself and the ill-fated Emily.

Fanny vainly endeavoured to persuade the wo
man to suffer her to escape. She was inexorable
to all her entreaties ; when the poor girl found her
eloquence unavailing to prevail with her gaoler,
to restore her to freedom ; she then strove to pene
trate the cause of her detention. " .For what rea
son," said the weeping girl, " am I deprivedof my
liberty? who is it that thus cruelly tears me from
the asylum that protected me, surely Mr. Hamilton
cannot be an impostor.''

"Whether he is or no, itismostlikeyou will never
see himagain,replied the woman, " so don't let that
trouble you; the person who removes you, does it
outofpure kindmess to save you from a worse fate.
You are going a little journey, and it will be your
pwnfault if you don't make your fortune. But here
comes Robin and Franklyn, so hold your tongue, or

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 287

et will be worse for you ;" the men now entered the
room, and one of them declared that the carriage
was come. Poor Fanny was obliged to submit to
have the bandage re-placed over her mouth, and
being wrapt in a large cloak, she was conveyed to
a post chaise that was in waiting at the door of the
house. More dead than alive, the poor victim was
lifted into it by the men, but unable to keep her
seat, she dropped apparently senseless on the bot
tom of the carriage. " Come Mabel/' cried one of
the men, " you had better get into the chaise, and
support the poor girl in yourarms, she will die else
before she reaches the water, and then you know
the Colonel will blow us to the old one.

The woman obeyed the injunction, charging her
husband to take care of the house. " Aye, aye,"
replied he, " never you fear, the house is well able
to take care of itself."

Although Fanny was incapable of speaking or
moving, she heard every word that was spoken;
and when the Colonel's name struck her ear, her
heart died within her, for she did not doubt but
that the violence she was suffering, originated in
Lord Somertown's malice; and the recollection of
the note she had lost so unaccountably, and which
she had forgotten to mention to Mr. Hamilton,
made her imagine that the secret of that gentle
man's existence was discovered by his inveterate
foe.

The agonizing fear this idea created, was too
much for poor Fanny to support, and dropping her
head upon Mabel's shoulder, she fainted away.

The woman, whose heart was not quite obdu
rate, although she had been seduced for the sake
of a large sum of money, which had been promised
her, to lend her aid to this cruel violence, felt her
self seriously alarmed, and called to the drivers of
the carriage to stop, that she might make some ef
fort to revive her unfortunate companion; but no

288 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

attention was paid to her entreaties, and when she
exalted her voice in order to make herself better
heard, her husband, who was on horse hack,
rode up to the carnage, and threatened her with
his horsewhip, if she did not hold her tongue.

By this time Fanny had revived, and finding by
Mabel's lamentations, that she had awakened
some sympathy in her bosom, she began imploring
her to inform her whither her persecutors were
conveying her.

" Did not I hear something about accompany
ing me to the water?" said the the trembling girl.
(* Surely they are not going to send me out of
England." And as she spoke she thought upon
Mr. Hamilton's narrative, where he described
what he had suffered on a similar occasion, when
sent on board a vessel by Lord Somertown.

" Lord bless your poor heart," replied Mabel,
" you must not frighten youself so, that's what
you must not, else I am certain sure you will not
live to go any where. And if so be you are to be
taken over sea, you may depend upon it, great
care will be taken of you, and you will be a great
Lady, and very happy, or it must be your own
fault; for the Col. said as how, that if a hair of
your head was hurt, he would be the death of
the person that injured you; and, indeed, Miss,
I would not have had any thing to do with the
conspiration, if I had not knowed that you was not
to be hurted /"

" You seem to pity me," said Fanny, " I hope,
therefore, wherever I am going, that you will ac
company me."

" I shall go with you to the water-side, I dare
say, Miss, but no farther."

"And where am I going to then?" said Fanny.

Oh lauke, Miss, I must not tell you, if I knowed,
for Franklyn would kill me ; but I do not
only guesses —

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 289

** Then," interrupted Fanny, " there can sure be
no harm in guessing.'*

** Well, if you won't tell what you know, Miss,
J will just whisper what I suspect. I fancy you
be going to Ireland."

" To Ireland !" ejaculated Fanny

" There now, Miss, you talk so loud, Franklyn
will hear you, and then he will kill me as sure as
a gun.

" I will be more cautious," said Fanny, lower
ing her voice ; " but what' can they be taking me
to Ireland for ?"

" Oh dear, J[ am sure that is more than I can
tell," answered Mabel; " I wish they had let you
stay were you was ; but they know their own
business, I suppose; though, I am sure, I be
frightened, out of my wits, between one thing and
t'other."

" Pray do ask your husband to let you go with
me," said Fanny ; " I shall think myself safe if
they do not take you from me."

" Dear heart, Miss, I dare not ask no such
thing," answered the woman, " for my husband is
the most snappishest man you ever seed in your
life, and would not mind more than nothing at all,
giving me a black eye, or any other bruise, if I was
to go about to circumvent him."

" 1 must submit to my fate, then," said Fanny,
sighing, " for I am sure, I would not be the oc
casion of suffering to any one, if I could avoid
it for all the world."

Fanny now threw herself back in the carriage,
and sunk into a silent reverie. Fatigue, and ex
cessive weeping, soon converted that reverie into
a slumber, and she awoke not until the chaise
stopped for refreshment and change of horses, at a
lone house upon a dreary common. Day was
just peeping through the eastern sky and gave

290 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

light enough to shew to the unhappy Fanny the
hopelessness of her situation.

The two men who had torn her from her cham
ber kept close watch by the carriage, whilst the
horses were changed, and took especial care that
the few persons who were up at the little inn where
they had halted, should not approach near enough
the chaise to converse with Fanny, had she been
inclined to call them for succour.

One of the men pulled a little basket from the boot
and took from it a bottle of wine, and a parcel of
cake, part of which he offered respectfully to Fan
ny. At first she refused to touch it ; but, on Ma-
bel's declaring that she would immediately quit
her, unless she consented to take some refresh
ment, poor Fanny submitted, and swallowed half
a glass of wine, and eat a small biscuit.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The Hibernian.

POOR Fanny's dreary journey continued through
the whole of the ensuing day, only stopping for
change of horses, which were found at some lone
place waiting for the approach of the chaise, which
kept its way through bye lanes, and trackless
wastes, avoiding cautiously every habitation.
Fanny, who now gave herself up for lost, sunk

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 291

into a state of apathy, which almost rendered her
callous to the misery of her situation, and she re
mained perfectly passive by the side of Mable,
who, overcome by fatigue, had fallen into a pro
found slumber.

They continued travelling long after night had
set in ; and the darkness that now enveloped every
object, prevented Fanny from distinguishing the
country she was passing through. At length
the carriage stopped,and the hollow-sound ingwind
that then struck her ear, accompanied by the loud
dashing of water, convinced the unhappy sufferer
that she was near the sea.

A new agony of terror now pervaded her soul,
and roused her from the torpor which had seized
her; and when the man whom Mabel called Frank-
lyn, approached the chaise and opened the door of
it, Fanny screamed aloud, and, clasping her arms
round Mabel's neck, implored her not to leave her.

The woman, who was just awakened from her
nap, was terrified at Fanny's violence, and began
weeping excessively, and promised that she would
not leave her.

" Here's a fine to do!'' exclaimed the ruffian,,
taking Fanny in his arms, and lifting her in spite
of her struggles, from the chaise. He \vas soon,
however obliged to alter his behaviour; for the
terror occasioned by his violence, so completely
overpowered Fanny, that she sunk lifeless on the
ground, and he and every other person present,
believed that she had indeed breathed her last.

" Let us make haste and get her on board," said
Franklyn, " and then we can swear she died of
sea-sickness."

" No, that you slia'ri't," exclaimed Mabel; " for
I vow I will betray you if you do not directly get
some help for this poor dear lamb. I'll tell the
Colonel it was your ill usage killed her."

" Don't you know, tylrs. Chatterbox, "answered

292 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

her husband, " thatyowmaybe silenced before you
expectit; so don't letmehave any of your threats."

" But although he carried such an air of bravado
with his wife he was dreadfully alarmed lest she
poor victim had sunk under her sufferings, and cal
ling the other men to assist him, they conveyed
Fanny into a little cottage belonging to the fisher
man in whose skiff they were going to embark-
their hapless charge.

Several hours elapsed before Fanny shewed
the least symtom of recovery; at length, by the
tender assiduities of Mabel and the fisherman's
wife, she slowly revived; and having been persua
ded to swallow a little wine and water, she was
able to speak.

The first question she asked, was, whether
Mabel would stay with her? The woman as
sured her, with tears, that she would, and iu-
treatecl her to try to take a little rest, pledging, at
the same time, her word, in the most solemn man
ner, that she would not quit her bed-side whilst
she slept.

Fatigue and excessive suffering, both of body
and mind, had entirely exhausted Fanny's
strength, and she willingly yielded to the drow
siness that overpowered her, now she had re
ceived such assurances of security whilst she in
dulged it.

She awoke not until the day was far spent, and
found Mabel seated on one side her bed, and the
fisherman's wife on the other, with the strongest
anxiety painted on their countenances. At first
her ideas were too much confused, to allow her
to recollect where she wras ; but as they became
more clear, the dreadful truth flashed upon her
mind, and she burst into tears.

" Don't cry, there's a dear young lady," ex
claimed Mabel, " I have got leave from my hus
band to cross the water with you, and, I warrant

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 293

me, nobody shall hurt you whilst I be with you,
Lauke a me if I had knbwed what a deal of un-
happiness I should have had on your account, I
would no more have undertaken the business
than 1'd'ajlyed, that's what I would not ; no not
for twice the money the Colonel has promised us."
" Oh! contrive some means for my escape,"
exclaimed Fanny, " and if gold is the object
which has induced your husband and you to be
tray me, I will promise you twice the sum he is to
give you, and fear not that I can pay you, for I
am sure, Lady Ellincourt will not hesitate to ran
som me, as soon as she knows the service you
have done me."

" Lauk, Miss, you talk just as if I could do
what I likes, and you forgets I have a husband,
and a queer jockey he is too, as ever a poor
woman was troubled with ; but, howsomdever, if
you will but go quietly along with the folks as be
conveying you to Ireland, why it shall go hard
but I will send somebody after you as shall get
you back again in a crack ; but if you goes about
to be rumbustical, and the like of that, why then
my husband will kill me, and then you know I
cannot tell your friends, and I defy Satan himself
to find you unless I blab the secret: so you see
what you have to trust to."

Fanny uttered a deep sigh as she listened to
Mabel's strange exhortation, for she felt too truly
how much her chance of escaping depended upon
the exertions of that woman, to dare to contradict
a tittle of what she advanced. She wondered
much that Mabel should speak so openly before
the fisherman's wife, of affairs that certainly en
dangered her own safety, should they be made
public; this surprise subsided, however, when she
found soon afterwards, that the poor woman was
quite deaf; a circumstance that gave her real con
cern, as she had hoped, from the humanity ex-
13. 2 P

294 FATHERLESS FANNY; O*,

pressed in her countenance, that she should have
been able to interest her in her behalf; this was
impossible it plainly appeared, for she must have
spoken so loud that, in such a small house, every
thing she said would have been in danger of being
overheard by Franklyn and the other men.

Poor Fanny was obliged, therefore, to be silent,
and commit herself to the care of that God, who
was alone able to deliver her. As soon as Frank
lyn understood that Fanny was awake, he insisted
upon her being put immediately on board the
little vessel that lay waiting for her in a creek'
near the fisherman's habitation. Resistance was
in vain ; Fanny therefore submitted without mak
ing any, and was presently conveyed into the
miserable little cabin of the fishing smack. But
here a fresh trial awaited her, and her fortitude
had nearly forsaken her when she found that, not
withstanding his promise to let Mabel cross the
water with her, the barbarous Franklyn insisted
upon leaving his wife behind. Fanny's tears and
entreaties availed her nothing; the vessel was
soon under weigh, and the hapless girl launched
on the boundless ocean, accompanied only by the
most unprincipled of ruffians.

The fear of fainting surrounding by such a
horrid crew, made Fanny exert an energy she
was before unconscious of possessing, and lifting
up her heart in prayer to the God in whom she
trusted, her countenance assumed a look of patient
fortitude, that astonished her persecutors.

" Miss looks terrible well now,'r exclaimed
Franklyn, to one of the other men, " it is only
my whimpering wife made her bad before ; I wish
I had sent her back sooner, we should have been,
across the herring-pond by this time.'*

The wind being exactly fair, with a light breeze,
a few hours wafted them over, and the shores of
Ireland presented themselves to their view. The

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 295

ressel ran into a narrow creek, under a chain of
hills that seemed the counterpart of the one they
had just left on the other side. Here they dis
embarked, and Fanny was conveyed to a miser
able mud cabin, where she was obliged to wait
whilst the owner of it, at the request of Fraiiklyn,
went in search of a car, to carry her to the place
of her destination, which she understood, from the
conversation of those around her, was at the dis
tance of three miles.

To those wlio have never seen the interior of a
cabin in Ireland, it would be in vain to attempt to
give an idea of the scene that presented itself to
Fanny, on her entering that abode of poverty and
wretchedness. These who have seen one, will
readily admit the picture to be true, when I de
scribe it. Around a fire, made upon the hearth
and composed of damp turf, whose suffocating
smoke rendered them almost invisible, stood six
squalid looking children, of different sizes ; all,
except the youngest, clothed in tattered garments
of a thousand different hues. That poor little
thing had no other covering but what heaven had
given it, and seemed to -creep close to its brothers
and sisters, in order to shelter itself from the chill
blast that entered at the open door as well as at
the hole in the wall, which supplied the place of
a window : a crock was on the fire, full of potatoes,
which with a little buttermilk, was the only food
ever tasted by the wretched family. Fanny shrunk
back, horror struck by the scene before her, but
instantly recollecting her forlorn situation, she ad
vanced at the entreaty of the mistress of the
wretched hovel, and took possession of a seat that
was placed for her near the fire, from whence the
children were immediately driven by their mother
to make room for the stranger, a character always
sacred in the eyes of the Irish. Fanny entreated
that the poor little creatures might be permitted to

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

remain ; no sense of suffering, no fear of personal
inconvenience could, for an instant induce her
to forget the feelings of others, and the natural
benevolence of her heart, could only be extin
guished by the suspension of life itself. The men
who were at once the persecutors of Fanny, and
her guard, now entered the cottage, bearing a
basket containing provisions ; some refreshment
was offered to Fanny, but she refused it, and en
treated that what was intended for her use, might
be distributed amongst the poor objects around
her. This request was complied with, and Fanny
felt her sorrows for a while suspended by the
heartfelt satisfaction, of beholding a group of
starving children made happy by her bounty. It
is impossible to describe the joy of the poor little
creatures, at the partition of the food, or to do
justice to the suprise and delight, painted on their
meagre countenances, whilst partaking of such
uncommon fare. The mother stood by, contem
plating her offspring with silent pleasure, and
when pressed to take a part of the dainties, she
declined the invitation.

" Let the children eat it all," said she " it does
m e more good to look at them, than to eat any
myself' Fanny's eyes filled with tears, as she
listened tothis tender expression of unsophisticated
nature, and mechanically putting her hand into
her pocket, she drew forth a purse, and took from
it a small piece of gold, which she destined for
the affectionate mother.

The action was unperceived by either of the
men, or perhaps it might have been productive of
bad consequences to the benevolent Fanny ; who,
at the moment of doing it, had so totally forgotten
all her own sufferings, that no idea of bribery as
sociated itself with the destined gift.

The return of the man with the car he had been
sent for, now obliged Fanny to quit the wretched

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 297

hovel, and had it been any thing less miserable
than it was, she would have done so with reluct
ance ; because she found it contained a human
heart, capable of feeling. Whilst the men were
busy placing Fanny's little trunk upon the vehicle
that awaited her, and arranging some clean straw
for her accommodation ; she found an opportu
nity of slipping the little piece of money into the
poor woman's hand. Scarcely could the wretched
creature believe her senses, when she looked upon
the welcome gift, but no sooner was she convin
ced that she held the value of seven tkirteens in
her hand, than dropping on her knees she called
down blessings on the donor's head, with all the
enthusiastic gratitude, which is characteristic of
her country. Fanny implored her rise, for she
felt the danger of the men's return, and putting
her hand over her mouth, besought her to be si
lent. " And so I will, my lady,'' cried the poor
woman, " because you desire it, but oh ! it is fit
you should know that you have saved me and
mine from starving, for now we can pay our cruel
landlord, and then he will .not drive our pig, be
fore it is half big enough, and so ruin us for ever.
Oh ! and it is Permot who is grateful, he will
never forget your goodness, and if it should ever fall
out that he can do you service, he will go through
fire and water to do' it. We are/>owmy lady,
but our hearts can feel a kindness with the richest
lord in Christendom. " I am no lady," cried
Fanny, " but an unhappy girl, even more destitute
than you are.3'

" Then you shall not rob yourself to help us,"
replied the woman, attempting to return the seven
shilling piece ; " you mistake me," said Fanny, " f
do not want money, it is friends 1 stand in need of,
so keep it good woman, and let me have your
prayers." " Yes, and you wtVihave them my sweet
jewel,"replied the woman, " and if it is friends you

298 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

want, it is Dermot that will be one to you, for he
will watch you by night and by day ; just at this
moment, Frankly n entered to say the car was ready,
and Fanny made a sign to her new friend to be si
lent, the woman took the hint, and immediately
obeyed it; but she folio wed Fanny to the door, and
assisted in placing her on the car." The men walk
ed on each side of the vehicle; and Dermot, her
promised friend, was the driver of the sorry horse
that drew her along. Fanny could scarcely
refrain from a smile, when she contemplated the
ragged figure of the protector, so boastingly pro
mised her by his grateful wife. Alas ! thought
she, I am persecuted by the powerful and rich,*
how then can such a poor creature as that, assist me
to escape from the grasp of oppression ? and yet
my help must come from Heaven, and there is no
means too insignificant to become the instruments
of deliverance in the hands of almighty power.
With thoughts like these, did the innocent Fanny
amuse her pensive mind, during her tedious jour
ney; for although the distance was no more than
three Irish miles, the road was so extremely bad,
• that she was above two hours and a half confined
to the uneasy vehicle that conveyed her, whose
creaking wheel s as they turned slowly round add ed
by their mournful sound, to the melancholy that
oppressed her. The day was closing in, when
Fanny leftthe cabin, and the shades of evening en
veloped the landscape, as she approached the end
of her journey.

Yet still the lofty battlements of a large castle
that rose on an eminence before her, could not be
hidden by the dusky veil. Fanny shuddered as
she gazed upon the immense prison, for such she
feared it would prove to her, and once or twice a
thought of her unfortunate mother crossed her
imagination, and she could not help fancying that
Jhis might have been the scene of her sufferings.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

The gate of the castle was opened, onFrauklyn's
knocking*, by an old man who appeared as if his
birth had been coeval with the building of the castle.
He seemed to have expected the arrival of Fanny
and her escort, for he immediately led the way
through two courtyards, to an inner range of build
ings, where an elderly womanof no very prepossess
ing appearance came out to meet them. She
welcomed Fanny to BallafynCastle, and confirmed
the suspicions which had before arisen in her mind.

Scarcely now could her trembling legs support
her exhausted frame ; and she was obliged to lean
upon the woman's arm, as she walked through the
long passage that led to the apartment that was
prepared for her. When she entered the room,
she sunk upon the first chair she came to, without
ever casting a single glance at the magnificence
that surrounded her.

" You seem very ill, Miss," said the woman in
a sharp tone, " perhaps you are tired, and had ra
ther go to bed, than sit up to supper. I can assure
you, there is a very nice one got for you. My
Lord gave orders that you should have the best
of every thing."

" I would, indeed, wish to retire to bed," an
swered Fanny, " the fatigue I have suffered has
quite overcome me."

"Well, Miss, I will order Rose to warm your bed
directly, and return to show you the way to it.'*

" I thank you ;" answered Fanny, " the sooner
the better," and as she spoke every limb shook
with agitation and terror.

The woman left the room without observing her
emotion : and Fanny had now leisure to observe
the room she was in, which appeared to be one of
the best in the Castle, for it was furnished in a
style of grandeur that, accustomed as Fanny was
to the mansions of the great, struck her with sur
prise. But alas ! the trappings of magnificence,

300 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

can boast but few charms for the truly wretched,
and Fanny turned with horror from the contempla
tion.

These very walls had once contained her mo
ther, and, perhaps, could they speak, might have
told a tale of murder! The woman had said, " My
Lord has ordered that you shall have every thing of
the best." Did she then mean Lord Ballafyn ?
Surely not ; for how could he be interested about a
person he had never seen. No, no, the infernal
agent in this dark business could be no other than
Colonel Ross ; and her soul shuddered as she
thought upon the motive that had induced him to
take such a step as that of immuring her in a pri
son, from which it appeared to her finite ideas, im
possible to escape.

Whilst she was engaged in this unpleasant
reverie, the woman returned, and told her the bed
was ready. Fanny arose immediately, and fol
lowed her guide into a large hall, in which was the
great staircase, they ascended its marble steps and
entered a long gallery with doors on each side, one
of them was partly open, and the light within
shewed that it was prepared for a guest. Fanny's
guide stopped a't this door, and told her that was
her apartment. On entering the room, Fanny
found it was an elegant bed-room, with every re
quisite for her accommodation. A young woman,
of a pleasing open countenance was warming the
bed ; and Fanny observed that she seemed to look
at her with peculiar complacency as she dropped
her curtsey, and bid her welcome at her entrance.
Here Fanny found also her trunk, the key of which
was given her by the old woman, who said at the
same time, " I hope you will find every thing you
want, Miss, in this room ; but if you should not,*
you have nothing to do, but to ring, and either
Rose, or I, will immediately wait upon you.

Fanny thanked her ; but said she was in want

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 301

of nothing. "Excepting, indeed," added she, with
a sigh, " that I want my liberty."

" Oh, as to that," answered the old woman, " I
warrant me, you will have liberty enough when my
Lord comes, for he is very good to pretty young
girls; and if he had not liked you, he would not
have given such orders about you, nor been at all
this expence and trouble to get you here."

" Pray," asked Fanny, " who is your lord, if 1
may take the liberty to enquire/'

" Lord Ballafyn is my lord," answered the old
woman, " and as noble a gentleman as any in the
north of Ireland ; but I dare say you know that as
well as I do."

" 1 never saw Lord Ballafyn in my life," an
swered Fanny, "and therefore cannot imagine why
he should take so much trouble about me."

" Oh who knows," answered the beldame, "per
haps he is going to make a lady of you : there is
such a likeness between you and my late lady, that
you might pass for her, only you are rather too
young."

" How long has your lady been dead ?" asked
Fanny. " Above fifteen years,'' answered the old
woman, " but come, this is only keeping you out
of your bed, when you must want to be in it by
your pale looks."

" Oh no, I do not want to go to bed," said
Fanny, " for I am sure in this strange place it will
be impossible for me to sleep ; is there any body
that sleeps near me?"

" Oh yes, my husband and I sleep next room
butone; and Rose in the adjoining apartment. We
are airing the house against my Lord and his vi
sitors come, so we sleep in all thebeds in their turn."

" If you should want any thing Miss," said Rose,
good-naturedly, " you need only tap against the
wall, there is a door opens into this room out of
the one where I sleep."

13. 2Q

302 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

Fanny's mind was a little calmed by this intelli
gence, and she wished the two women good night,
and as soon as they were gone she threw herself
upon her knees, and imploring the Divine Protec
tion, succeeded so far in subduing her terrors, that
she arose from her kneeling posture, and began to
prepare for bed, The fatigue she had suffered of
late, joined to her anxiety of mind, had entirely
exhausted her strength, and miserable as she felt
herself, her grief yielded to the weariness that
came over her, and she dropped asleep in a few mi
nutes after she was in bed ; nor once awoke until
the broad beam of morning had illuminated her
chamber.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Retrospection.

WHEN Lord Ellin court returned to London, his
first care was to find Mr. Hamilton, and apprise
him of Fanny's disappearance. It is impossible to
describe the consternation this information excited
in the breast of that afflicted father — " Depend
upon it, the detestable Lord Somertown," said he,
*' is at the bottom of this infernal plot; I heard him
once threaten the sweet creature when he was un-^
conscious that he was speaking aloud, — the provo
cation that induced this brutality was some atten
tion shown to Fanny by his nephew the Duke of

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 303

Albemarle ; his lordship seemed to think he de
graded himself by his partiality for the lovely girl,
little imagining' that she was the lawful heiress
to the honours and estates which constituted the
supposed superiority; I reprimanded LordSomer-
town in a voice that made him tremble, for he
thought it came from the grave, and the conscience
stricken wretch fell down in a fit."

" What a pity his conscience did not choak him,'*
said Lord Ellincourt, " but good Heavens! what
shall we do to find the dear girl? It matters little
who is the instigator of this violence, unless we can
trace the instruments employed to execute it : I
have strong suspicions that Ross is concerned in it,
or at least bribed to pass it over without in/ pstiga-
tion. It is very odd he should set oft'for.«-reland
when he knew I was expected, and that betoreany
decisive step had been taken to trace the lovely
girl : By Heavens, if I could ascertain that it is so,
I would follow the villain to Ireland, and shoot him
as I would a crow."

" We had better take every possible precaution
here, said Mr. Hamilton, "before we talk of going
lo Ireland."

" I will go to Bow Street," said Lord Ellin-
court, " and set all the thief-hunting hounds in
full cry after the culprits who have stolen my
Fanny. If they are above ground we will find
them — I will advertise her in all the papers, you
know I told you I found the sweet girl through an
advertisement at first, so perhaps we may be as
lucky now

" 1 have been thinking," said Mr. Hamilton, in
terrupting Lord Ellincourt, " that if I were to at
tempt to obtain an interview with Lord Somertown,
and suddenly discover myself, and demand my
daughter; the terrors of his conscience might lead
him to betray something of the plot, if he is indeed
concerned in it/'

304 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" A very good scheme," said Lord Ellincourt,
" and I will accompany you as soon as I have been
to Bow Street, for I should like to shoot him too,
just by way of bringing my hand in, before I at
tempt winging Ross ; for 1 think it will turn out
he is entitled to a share. But in the meantime
where is my darling girl, my innocent, charming,
Fanny! — Upon my soul I believe I shall run stark
mad if I do not soon find her."

" What then must be my feelings!'' exclaimed
Mr. Hamilton.

" Why not half so bad as mine!" answered his
lively lordship — 1 have brought the dear creature
up, watched the progress of her angelic mind, and
seenr/ r goodness bud and blossom withher beau
ty ; I an sure if 1 were indeed her father, I could
not love her better. As yet my poor mother
knows nothing of this calamity, and Emily too,
there will be fine weeping and wailing when the
sad tale is told."

Mr. Hamilton accompanied Lord Ellincourt to
Bow Street, where proper information was lodged,
and a description of Fanny's person given. The
large reward offered by both Mr. Hamilton and
Lord Ellincourt, insured the attention and exer
tions of the men employed in the search, and they
did not hesitate in promising a speedy eclaircisse-
ment of the mystery.

Lord Ellincourt now reluctantly returned to
wards home, in order to inform his mother, and
wife, of the disaster that distressed him, and to
prepare advertisements for the papers of the ensu
ing day. Mr. Hamilton, at his particular request
accompanied him, for he had already been intro
duced to both the Ladies Ellincourt, and received
as the father of the amiable girl that had been so-
long dear to them.

I will not pretend to describe the distress felt by
those amiable ladies when they heard the mournful /

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 306

news. The Dowager Lady Ellincourt, who loved
the unfortunate Fanny for her own sake before she
knew who she was, now held her doubly dear, as
the sole surviving offspring of her lamented brother.
What then were her agonizing feelings when the
melancholy fate of that beloved brother was so forc-
ibly recalled to tier memory by the mysterious
disappearance of his hapless grandchild ; in vain
did young Lady Ellincourt smother her own grief,
under the appearance of confidence in the speedy
recovery of the lost jewel, and endeavour to impart
the consolation of hope to her desponding mother.
Lady Dowager Ellincourt would not listen to the
voice of comfort.

" It is my fault," said she, weeping, "I ought
not to have parted with the lovely girl — alas ! into
what hands have J confided her. Oh! my brother
how would your injured shade reproach your care
less sister, could yon be conscious that to her im
prudence is owing this insupportable calamity, the
extinction of thy last surviving heir!"

Lord Ellincourt used every argument his ima
gination could suggest to calm his mother's sorrow,
but finding her inconsolable, he gave up the hope
less task.

" Do let us go directly to Lord Somertown's,"
said his Lordship to Mr. Hamilton, " I want to be
doing something justto keep me from hanging my
self — I knew 1 should be ten times worse when I
had the women's grief added to my own."

Mr. Hamilton, who was not a bit less at a loss
what to do with himself, readily consented to the
proposal ; and they immediately proceeded to
Hanover-square. On ascending the steps of his
Lordship's house, they found the knocker muffled;
and the servant who opened the door, informed
them that Lord Somertown was extremely ill. and
not expected to live.

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

"What is his complaint?'' said Lord Ellin-
court.

•4 A violent fever and delirium," answered the
servant.

" Is the Duke of Albemarle here !" said Mr.
Hamilton.

" No, Sir," replied the man, " we don't know
where to send to the Duke, and that distresses us
very much. I believe it was a letter from his
Grace that first made my Lord ill, for he was in
such a fury after he had read it, that he stamped
about the room like a madman, and he was seiz
ed just afterwards with the fever, that has held
him ever since. His Lordship burnt the Duke's
letter, in his passion, or else his man could have
found out by that where to direct to his Grace."

" How long has his Lordship been ill/' asked
Lord Ellincourt.

" Only since the day before yesterday, Sir,
and he has raved incessantly ever since, '' said the
man. " He talks of the Duke, and says he is
married to an impostor; and then he wants to get
out of bed to go in pursuit of his nephew, crying
out, that he will be drowned, for that he is gone
to Ireland after a nameless girl."

Mr. Hamilton and Lord Ellincourt looked at
one another.

" Could I speak a few words to Lord Somer-
town's confidential servant,'' said the former, " I
have something of great importance to communi
cate to his Lordship : and perhaps it Avould be
prudent to inform his Lordship's valet of it."

The porter immediately sent to desire Lord
Some rtown's Gentleman/to come down stairs, and
Mr. Hamilton and Lord Ellincourt were shown
into the library until he came to them.

Whilst they were waiting there, an elderly
man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a
fat red face, and little sharp looking eyes came into

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. ,307

the room ; his person was short and thick set ;
and he wore a flaxen wig curled tight to his head ;
his clothes were plain, but of the best quality ; and
his manner ignorantly consequential.

" Sarvant, gentleman, your servant," bowing to
each as he entered, " hope no offence ;" and then,
with a significant nod, he seated himself. " Nice
easy chair this," continued he, looking archly,
first at Lord Ellincourt and then at Mr. Hamilton,
" stuffed with eiderdown, I fancy. Wonder whe
ther the old Lord ever found himself easy when he
sat in it," winking with one eye as he spoke,
" fancy not much of that. A rum old chap I be
lieve ; but suppose you know that as well as me.''

" We are not acquainted with Lord Somertown,"
answered Mr. Hamilton.

" So much the better, no loss, can assure you ;
they say he is ill, fancy I gave a doser myself last
time I saw him. A rum old jockey. Could not
swallow what was said ; and yet would not part
with hismopussestomnke a body hold their tongue.
Now you know, gentlemen, a man ought to be
paid for holding his tongue. You take me, don't
you r

" Not quite clearly, answered Mr. Hamilton,
who now hoped to draw something from the talk
ative stranger.

" Oh, don't you ? well then I'll explain it. Now
you must know, gentlemen, thatl havegot a secret
that concerns Lord Somertown, and I have kept it
a great many years ; because why? I could not tell
it, for he sent me to India, to have me out of the
way. Well, what's the upshot? Why I was lucky;
scraped a little matter together, made the most of
it, and at last made up my mind to set off for Eng
land. Well, coming home our ship was taken,
and I lost & sight of things. Had secured my mo
ney though, by sending it before me to England.
Well, what's the upshot? Why, when 1 gete

308 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

home, which I did at last, by being retaken by an
English privateer, the first thing I did, was to en
quire for Lord Somertown ; for thinks I 'tis fi the
should pay my loss. Well, what's the upshot ?
Why, when I went to explain matters in the civil-
est manner possible, why he falls into a great pas
sion, called me a scoundrel, and I cannot tell you
what ; well then, says I, my Lord, says I, that for
you, and then I snapped my fingers, your secret
shall be known, and more than you think's I know,
and it shall go into the newspapers, and into the
Parliament House, and into-.— "Just at this moment
the door of the apartment opened, and Lord So-
mertown's valet came in.

He bowed respectfully to Lord Ellincourt and
MrHamilton, and begged to know their commands.

Before they could answer, however, the flaxen
wigged gentleman stepped between them and said
in a tone of importance, "Hope no offence, gentle
men, hope no offence; but really must speak."

"Has my Lord sent me any message? Does he
come to terms? Will he down with the mopasses?"

" I have already told you, Mr. Fortescue, that
my Lord is too ill to be spoken to," said the ser
vant, " I beg you will wrait a little longer for an
answrer."

" No shan't wrait another day, have great reason
to think the right heir's alive ; if so, will be sure
to find him. Warrant he will be glad enough to
pay me."

" Pray, Mr. Fortescue, do not talk so strangely,"
interrupted the servant, " what must these gentle
men tl.ink! if my Lord was well, you would not
dare io do it!"

" What," said the stranger, " would he put me
in a bag, and send me on board a ship, ah! know
his tricks, pretty well all over now. Can't do no
more mischief, Old one fetch him in a bag now,
T suppose."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. $09

** I wish you would let these gentlemen speak,
Mr. Fortescue," said the valet, "it is really a
great shame you should affront them so."

"Ask pardon; hope no offence; pray speak
gentlemen; perhaps you have got a secret to tell."

" No," replied Mr. Hamilton, " we have no se
cret to tell ; we want to find out one ; and we will
give a handsome reward to whoever can give us
the least information upon the subject. I have
lost a daughter, and 1 have reason to suspect she is
secreted by Lord Somertown : the truth must soon
come out, and then woe nnto the delinquent. In
the mean time, however, I offer pardon and a re
ward to any of the accomplices in this dark plot,
that will discover it to me, so that I may recover
my lost child. Five hundred pounds shall be
given to whoever will discover where she is.''

" Five hundred pounds!" repeated the talkative
Mr. Fortescue; "why five hundred pounds is
very well for telling a secret. 1 asked a thousand
pounds for keeping a secret; but then every body
knows that to keep a secret is worth double what
it is to tell one. So, Sir, if you please to give me
your direction, will try what I can do for ye."

Mr. Hamilton put a card into his hand. The
moment heglanced hiseyes overit, "What Hamil
ton of Pemberton Abbey?" exclaimed he.

" The same" answered Mr. Hamilton.

" Well, then, will call on you in an hour, and
tell you something make your hair stand an
end."

" What about my daughter?" said Mr. II.

" No, no : about somebody nearer a-kin to.
you."

" Who ttmthatbe?''

" Why yourself, to be sure," replied the od
dity, laughing at what he thought his own wit.

LordSomertown's valet appeared much agitated
and distressed during the whole of this scene ; but

No. 14. 2 R

310 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

he persisted in saying that he knew nothing of the
young lady ; and adding, that he believed his at
tendance would be wanted with his Lord.

The gentlemen were obliged to go, without ob
taining any satisfaction.

The loquacious Mr. Fortescue retired at the
same time. As he turned from the door, he nod
ded his head, and said with a grin: " Be with you
at the time ; bring some intelligence of young Miss ;
by then, perhaps. — Well, what's the upshot ?
why, get five hundred pounds : half as good as
keeping a secret"

CHAPTER XXXV.

Development.

BEFORE the gentlemen returned home, they called
at the Duke of Albemarle's, and learnt, with con
cern, that his Grace was out of town, and not ex
pected to return for sometime ; as his servant who
had been left in London, had orders to follow him
to Ireland, whither his grace was unexpectedly
gone.

" To what part of Ireland is the Duke gone?'*
asked Lord Ellincourt,

" We are not certain, Sir," answered the ser-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 311

vant: "his valet is to meet his Grace in Dublin.
His grace did not think of going to Ireland, when
he left London for Pemberton-Abbey."

" For Pemberton-Abbey!" exclaimed Lord
Ellincourt. " When did his Grace visit that
place?"

" It is nearly a week ago, Sir," replied the man;
" at least as near as 1 can recollect. But his Grace
did not stop there at all ; for on the road he met
with some intelligence that obliged him to go to
Ireland; and then the Duke wrote home for his
valet to go to Dublin, and take the things the Duke
wanted with him; and his grace said he should
meet him there shortly."

"And does Lord Somertown know where the
Duke is gone?" asked Mr. Hamilton.

"Oh no, Sir," replied the man; "and the
news has almost killed Lord Somertown ; for I
believe his Lordship thinks his Grace is gone to
fight a duel.5'

The gentlemen thanked the servant for his in
telligence, and departed towards Mr. Hamilton's
house that they might be in time for the loqua
cious visiter they expected.

" This is a dark business," observed Mr. Ham
ilton, as they walked along. " I do not believe
that Lord Somertown does not know where the
Duke is gone. What appears the strangest to me
is, that it should be owned that his Grace set out
for Pemberton-Abbey, since his attachment to
Fanny is so well known, that it would be supposed
by every body, that his visit could be intended for
her alone."

•' I dare say he is the very man who has ran
away with poor Fanny," said Lord Ellincourt;
" but I will soon know the truth: for by Heavens
I will set off for Ireland directly. I will just go
with you, and hear what old Square-toes has got
to say, and then 1 am off in a tangent."

312 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" But will it be prudent," said Mr. Hamilton,
" to set off for Ireland, without knowing to what
part of it you must direct your footsteps ?

" Oh, 1 shall gain some intelligence on the
road," answered his Lordship. " For I mean to
go down to Pemberton- Abbey again, and endea
vour to trace the fugitives from thence. Ross is
gone to Ireland, too; and I still think he is in the
secret. Lord Ballafyn's castle is in the north of
Ireland, you know ; I shall therefore cross from
Port-Patrick, and make immediately for Ballafyn
Castle, and make that rascal Ross give me an
account of the sweet girl I entrusted to his care ;
and, if it is not a satisfactory one, I will shoot the
scoundrel."

" Let me accompany your Lordship,'' said Mr.
Hamilton. "Who can be so proper to go in search
of the dear creature, as her father ? Besides, I
know the danger of going alone to Ballafyn Castle
too well, to let you risk it."

" Oh , never fear me," answered Lord Ellincourt;
" 1 will take servants enough with me, to defend
me against an ambush; and, I really think, it will
not be prudent foi*us both to leave town; as how
ever, appearances may lead us to suppose Fanny
has been carried to Ireland, it is still possible she
may be in London raid need a protector."

* • Then Mr. Barlowe will be that protector/'
said Mr. Hamilton; " for I cannot remain inactive
whilst in this state of suspense.''

By this time the gentlemen had arrived at Mr.
Hamilton's : they had not been long there before
Mr. Fortescue was announced. %

He entered with his familiar nod : Exact to
my time, you see," said he smiling. " Pretty
used to that, when I was in India. Got into a
different sort of place now. This is the land of
freedom ; Lord Somertown knows that pretty
well, But what's the upshot? why, when he

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 313

wants to get rid of a man, pops him off abroad :
has done it more than once."

•' Now, Sir, I must ask one question, before I
say any thing more: — Are you old Mr. Hamilton's
son, of Pemberton- Abbey?"

'• I am not, Sir, answered Mr. Hamilton em
phatically, "but 1 am his heir, have you any thing
to communicate respecting my deceased friend."

'• Why Sir, as to that, the person I want to find
was called Mr. Hamilton's son, but was not his
son: and if I could find him, 1 fancy I could tell
him something to please him a little, but have
heard he is dead, so hope no offence, there's no
harm done, if you ajnt he, the storys nothing to

you."

" I am he," interrupted Mr. Hamilton, " be-
explicit, therefore, and do not keep me in sus
pense."

" Thought as much as soon as I glimpsed you,
same turn efface, little older to be sure, but what's
the upshot? If people live long, must grow old —
a little older myself,"

" Well, again," interrupted Mr. Hamilton,
" whither does this tend, Sir? I am not in a mood
to be trifled with."

" Why then you shall not be trifled with,'* an
swered the oddity, (winking aside at Lord Ellin-
court,) " a4ittlerumbustical or so, something like
curry powder; but I see you are going to fly out
again, Well then, must make haste to tell you
that I have got documents in my possession, that
will prove your right to the Albemarle title and
estate, and if you are willing to come down with
tfrcmopassses, we'll setthe lawyers to work directly
and make old Somertown hang himself; but there
must be some mopasses you understand me, can't
tell a secret without mopasses."

" How came you by these documents, Sir,"
asked Mr. Hamilton. " Very honestly I can as-

314 FATHERLESS FANNY; OH,

sure you, come to me like a legacy. My father
was clerk of the parish, where your father and
mother were married, and to please the late Lord
Somertown, and for a few mopasses (winking) he
tore the leaf out of the register, and got out of the
way when the marriage was tried to be proved.
A very keen old man — understood trap as well as
anybody — lived to be ninety-five — died only a few
weeks ago — sent for me into Scotland, as soon as
he heard J had returned to England — said, he had
got something to leave me ; so off I set thought
there were some mopasses, very few of them,
though for this, Lord Somertown had behaved
shabby to him, and neglected to pay him his an
nuity, when he though^ there was no danger of a
claim to the estate."

" Well, father was resolved to be upside with
him, so sent for me. ' Tom,' says he, ' he giving
me a tin box, there's something to make your for
tune in that box, and then he told me that it con
tained the register, he had torn out of the book.

" Lord Somertown sent to me a few days ago,"
said he, ' to smooth me up a bit, and bid me
keep close, for he heard that the man who could
claim the estate, and was supposed dead, was alive :
and therefore it was necessary to caution me not to
answer any questions, if I should be found. I
promised I would not, but I have n6t forgot his
ill-treatment of me, when he thought 1 was not
wanted, and so Tom, I was glad to find you were
come back, for now you can sell the secret well to
one side or t'other. The leaf of the hook will be
known to be the real one, when it comes to be com
pared with those that follo\y it; for the hand writ
ing, and the dates will agree, and to make it firmer,
I will make affidavit to the hand-writing beingthat
of the vicar of the parish, at the time the marriage
was solemnized.'

" And so he did before a magistrate, and have

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 316

got it snug, and you shall have it for a few mo-
passes." " If I should be so happy as to find my
daughter again," said Mr. Hamilton, " I might
be tempted to assert my right to that estate, but
honors and riches are mere drugs to the unhappy.
Besides, whilst my own marriage cannotbe proved
with Lady Emily, my child cannot inherit, and
Lord Somertown has taken care to preventthat, by
sendingtheonly surviving witness outof England/'
" Know it very well, nobody better, I am the man,
sent me to India, gave me a good birth, plenty of
mopvsses, kept me there these eighteen years,
placed me where I could not get off; the only one
in the secret died at last, and then off come I, but
lost my mopasses coming home, well what's the up
shot? why went to Lord Somertown for more.
Flew in a great passion, called me a scoundrel:
told him he had better be quiet; so he ordered the
servants to kick me/out, but they knew better. He
didnotknow I was son to the man he was keeping
inScotland,becausehe never heard my rightname,
but 1 wrote it in the book at church.''

" I remember," said Mr. Hamilton, "that the
witness to my marriage, who was one of the gar
deners at my reputed father's, -and who acted as
parish clerk, was named Thomas Halford, and 1
have sought him without ever being able to trace
him.''

" Yes, that's my name," answered the man,
" that's my name, but I was always called Fortes-
cue to Lord Somertown, because I did not want
him to know I was the son of the man his father
had pensioned. Well, what do you think of me
now?"

" Why I think," answered Mr. Hamilton,
*' that you have acted a rogue's part, in becoming
the tool of such a villian as Lord Somertown, and
thatwhilstl pay you to do me the tardy justice you
offer, I shall despise you for your baseness. Yet

316 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

should my daughter be restored to me, I will ac
cept your offer, and pay you your demand; but if
on the contrary she has fallen a victim to that worst
of wretches, I renounce the world,

" Its pomps, its pleasures, and
" Its nonsense all !"

" Never fear about your daughter, answered
Mr. Fortescue, " she is run off with the Duke of
Albemarle; heard it myself; heard old Somer-
town cursing and swearing about it. The Duke
sent him a letter, and I was in the next room wait
ing to speak to him, so put my ear to the door,
when the old man began to splutter, and heard him
say his hopes were for ever blasted, and that his
nephew would marry that beggar; that girl,
who was born to be his torment ; and now, too,
he had found out she was the offspring of the de
tested Hamilton. So you see I'm the man for
discoveries."

" 1 think so," said Mr. Hamilton, " and now,
indeed, your discovery is worth something. Ellin-
court, let us not lose a moment. I will ring and
order horses."

" So do," replied his Lordship, " but remem
ber I have a wife and mother to take care of, so I
will return home, and you can call forme."

" So I will, said Mr. Hamilton, " and within
an hour too.'5

Lord Ellincourt now departed ; and Mr. Ham
ilton ordered his servant to get post horses im
mediately. Then turning to Mr. Fortescue, " If
you will leave your address with me, Sir," said he
*' I will write to you as soon as I return, and in
form you of my determination. In the meantime
I hope yon don't intend to tamper with Lord
Somertown ?"

" No, no," answered the old man, " know

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 317

better how to make bargains ; understand trap ;
but shall look about me, and try to pick up what
news I can." Then taking a card from his
pocket, he gave it to Mr. Hamilton, and departed.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

$s

The Haunted Rock.

WE must now return to poor Fanny, whom we
left at Ballafyn Castle, just awaking to the renewal
of all her terrors.

Rose, the young girl who had warmed Fanny's
bed on the preceding night, came into the room
the next morning, the instant she heard her mov
ing about, and asked her if she wanted any thing.
Fanny thanked her, but replied in the negative."

" 1 hope, ma'am," said the girl curtseying,
" that you will let me stay and help to dress you,
for I am afraid you feel \erylonely in this strange
place.'*

" Indeed I do," said Fanny, bursting into tears,
*' but 1 fear my sorrow is hopeless."

" Oh no, Miss, you need not be uneasy, for my
Lord will be down to-night or to-morrow, and

14. 2 ,*

318 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

then I am sure he will do every thing to make you
comfortable."

"Why should you imagine so? said Fanny,
" Lord Ballafyn does not know me."

'* Indeed, Miss, I have heard," said the girl,
" that my Lord is going to marry you ; that is
what the servants all say ; and to be sure, if he
did not know you, he would not think of that."

"It must be a mistake," said Fanny, "alto
gether : for, I assure j ou I never saw Lord Bal- '
lafyn in my life time/'

" Well, Miss, to be sure, you must know best ;
but that's what is said." She then asked Fanny
whether she would chuse to breakfast below, or
in her owh apartment."

" Here, if you please," said Fanny, " for my
spirits are too weak to bear the thoughts of moving
from this spot."

As soon as Fanny was dressed, Rose left her to
fetch the breakfast, and when she was gone, Fan
ny had leisure to examine her apartment. It
was a spacious room, with the bed standing in an
alcove, and on each side of it were two modern
sash windows that looked into a beautiful park,
where great quantities of deer were seen grazing;
and the beautiful prospect it afforded would, in
any other circumstances, have delighted Fanny,
but now her desponding heart made her eye rest
upon it with melancholy indifference. At the
other end of the apartment was a large closet,
which was formed in one of the turrets of the
castle, and still retained its antique form. A long
narrow window, in the shape of a loop-hole, with
casement of glass, gave light to the apartment,
and from it Fanny discovered the top of a lower
tower, that appeared almost within reach of the
window. Her eye measured the distance with
anxiety, whilst a thought of escape, more to be,
wished than hoped for, vaguely crossed her imagi-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 319

nation ; yet, supposing she were able to elude the
vigilance of her guards, and quit the castle,
whither could she return her fugitive steps? or from
whom hope to receive that protection she stood so
much in need of?

When breakfast was over, Fanny said she would
take a walk into the park into which her windows
looked ; but Rose told her with a respectful
curtsey, that she hoped she would not be offended
at what she was going to say, but she had received
orders from the old woman, who was her aunt, not
to lose sight of her ; and, therefore, if she chose a
walk, she must suffer her to accompany her."

" I am a prisoner then?" said Fanny, tears
starting into her eyes.

" No, Miss, not a prisoner' said Rose, " only
my Lord has given such a strict charge about tak
ing cnre of you, that my aunt is afraid of letting
you wander about alone, in this wild place, where
you are quite a stranger, for fear you should lose
yourself."

" Your aunt is very considerate," said Fanny,
*' but the restraint is of no consequence, to me, for
I have no means of escaping were 1 at liberty to
wander wherever 1 pleased ; I will therefore take
the walk in your company, or remain withindoors,
which you like best.''

" Dear heart, Miss," said Rose, " you are very
condescending and good ; but I am sure my aunt
would not wish you to be deprived of a walk, and
so I will go and mention your wishes to her.'' —
And away she ran, and presently returned with
her bonnet on, and her aunt's respects, and begged
Miss would walk where she liked, provided Rose
accompanied her.

They now strolled into the park, and Fanny
had a full view of the immense edifice, called
Bailafyn Castle. There wa* something grand and
striking in its appearance, at least, where it had

320 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

not been modernized ; but wherever such windows
had been introduced, although they gave cheer
fulness to the apartments, they destroyed the
solemn grandeur of antiquity, and spoiled the
effect upon the imagination.

" This seems to be a very old place," said
Fanny, addressing Rose, "do you know how long
it has been built?"

" Oh lauk, no, Miss, but I dare say, these many
hundred years. I wonder my Lord don't pull it
down, and build a pretty new-fashioned house in
the place o£it, for this is good for nothing but to
harbour a pack of ghosts and the like of that."

" Of ghosts!" interrupted Fanny, " do they say
that ghosts haunt the castle?"

" Oh yes, Miss," answered Rose, " that they
certainly do, and not only the castle, but that great
rock that you see straight on before you there,
towards the sea. The late lady Ballafyn walks
there all in white every moonlight night, as I have
been told : but I can't say I ever saw her, for I
have always taken good care not to look, for it
would frighten me to death, I am sure, if 1 was to
see a ghost; but the gardener say she has seen her
many a time; and old Matthew says he has seen
her ; and there was a beautiful young man that
came here to court my lady, I believe, and some
people say my Lord killed him in a fit of jealousy,
and his ghost was seen upon the rock ; and they
say he walks the castle now, with a taper in his
hand, and a long sabre."

" You deal in shocking stories," said Fanny.
" Do you remember the late Lady Ballafyn."

" Oh dear, no, Miss ; she was dead before I
came to Ireland."

" You are not a native of Ireland then ?" said
Fanny.

" No, Miss," answered the girl, " my aunt and
I came from England soon after Lady Ballafyn s

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 321

death, Lord Ballafyn turned away all his servants
that lived with him before that time, and had new
ones from England, I was very young then, but
as 1 had no friends but my aunt, she would not
eome here, without she had the privilege of
bringing me with her, and so I have lived here
ever since."

" But your aunt said I resembled Lady Balla
fyn," said Fanny, " how could she know that, if
she never saw her ladyship?"

" Oh ! my aunt lived at Lord Somertown's," an
swered Rose, "before Lady Ballafyn was married,
and so she knewr her very well. Fanny listened to
this information with dismay, for it too plainly told
her, that she was in the hands of Lord Somer
town's creatures, and feared but too justly, that
some suspicion of her birth had given cause to her
present imprisonment.

They walked on towards the haunted rock, and
Rose was so taken up by the discourse she was
hoi ding, that she was unconscious whither she was
going, until she found herself close to the tremen
dous spot.

" Oh lauk ! Miss," screamed she, turning has
tily back, " I declare we are close to that frightful
haunted place, let us make haste away, for fear we
should see any thing."

" But ghosts only appear at night," said Fanny,
smiling, " what cause, therefore can there be for
your alarm at this hour of the day ?"

"O lauk, Miss/' they say Irish ghosts wralk in
the day-time, and then they are called Fetches ;
and if this should be one, what will become of us,
if it should jump out upon us V

" Never fear," said Fanny, " I will not require
you to go any farther, sit still upon this stone, and
let me climb the rock alone, 1 am sure the pros
pect from the top must be very beautiful, and \
Jpng to try whether my conjecture is right/'

322 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

Rose expostulated with Fanny on her impru
dence, and endeavoured to dissuade her from ex
ploring the dangerous rock, but finding herpersua-
sions vain, she yielded at length to her entreaties,
and seating herself upon tlie stone Fanny had
pointed out, consented to wait for her return from
what she termed her dangerous excursion.

The rock was of considerable magnitude, and
lofty craigs rose majestically from the solid mass
that composed the base, and seemed to emulate the
sky, for the clouds often rested on their summits,
long after the god of day had driven them from
the lower world. -The ascent to this romantic
promontory was made easy by a sort of natural
staircase, which wound round the basement of the
rock, and Fanny had soon the satisfaction of find
ing herself on a point so elevated, that she could
see the winding coa&tfor a considerable length of
way : and on the distant waves, where the arm of
the sea, that watered the shores, joined the parent
ocean; she could distinguish vessels passing, their
white sails glistening in the sun-beam. On the
Other hand, a wild country with a few scattered
cabins, presented a striking contrast to the richly
wooded and well cultivated demense, that skirted
Ballafyn Castle, and bespoke the riches of its
owner. As Fanny gazed at the dark battlements
of that proud edifice, she heaved a sigh to the
memory of her mother.

" Strange and unsearchable," said she aloud,
" are the decrees of heaven and frail mortals can
only bow the head, and suffer beneath the cor
recting hand of unerring wisdom. In that castle
did my sainted mother breath her last sigh, and
sink the victim of tyranny and oppression; and al
though bred an alien to every tender tie, and
equally a stranger to those who would have loved,
and those who would have persecuted her, the
hapless offspring of that martyred saint is now

• THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 233

brought by force to the same spot where her
mother suffered, to fall, perhaps, by the same
cruelty !''

As Fanny spoke,she clasped her hands together,
whilst tears of anguish chased each other down
her cheek. — " On this rock," continued she, look
ing around her, " the spirit of my mother is said
to walk ; Oh, would to Heaven that I might be
permitted to behold it! Dear murdered saint!
in pity listen ta thy daughter's sighs ; and if thou
art still conscious of what is passing in this mortal
vale, oh deign to shew thyself to her!''

The enthusiasm that had seized Fanny's mind,
as fancy suggested the possibility of beholding
the spirit of her mother, seemed to change her
timid nature and fortify her soul to meet the
awful visitation she was wishing for. She cast
her eyes around with an intrepid look, and seemed
almost to believe that the being she apostrophised
would really appear before her. No object of
that description, however, met her view, and the
hollow echoes of the caverns beneath her, alone
answered to her voice.

The expanse of ocean — the blue etherial vault
of Heaven — the grandeur of the surrounding
scenery — herlonelyunprotectedandperiloussitua-
tioa, all combined to raise her soul to devotion's
highest ecstncy. " That hand/' said she, "which
shielded me through the difficulties attending my
helpless and unprotected infancy; was my stay
and support as 1 advanced towards womanhood,
will still aid — wi 1 still protect ine.'' Oh dis
believing infidel, yon, who boast of high intellec
tual pov, crs, whose days are spent in contemning
and ridiculing the laws of your Maker, how despi
cable do you appear when compared with the
Christian in the hour of adversity. Few minds
were more free from the influence of superstition
than that of Fanny's, and, at any other time or

234 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

place, her better judgment would reject the idea
of the appearance of supernatural beings. But
the discourses of Rose, the love which she bore
to the memory of her persecuted mother, and her
own wishes, made her in despite of reason more
than cherish the idea. She now, heedless of the
vicinity of Rose, began to apostrophise her mother
in a louder strain, but was awakened from her de
lightful reverie, at last by the loud vociferation of
Rose, who, terrified at Fanny's long stay, had ad-^
vanced nearer the rock, and catching the sound
of the words uttered by Fanny, concluded she
was conversing with some of the dreadful inhabi
tants of that awe-inspiring spot.

" Oh, Miss, for Heaven's sake, come to me,"
cried the girl, " or 1 shall certainly die with ter
ror !— Fanny suddenly starting from her day
dream, which encouraged erroneous but fondly
cherished thoughts — thoughts that her reason,now
resuming the empire over her mind, struggled
hard to expel, and which her gentle bosom was
buttoo well disposed again to adopt; however, she
immediately descended the rock, and hastened to
relieve the ill-founded fears of the frightened do
mestic. Rose was trembling like an aspin leaf
when Fanny reached her; and it was with diffi
culty she persuaded her, that she had not seen
nor conversed with any thing supernatural during
her stay upon the haunted rock. By degrees,
however, she was reconciled to the idea thathad at
first alarmed he, and was even brought at last,
by Fanny's earnest entreaties, to promise that, if
the next day was line, she should again visit the
scene that appeared to interest her so much. Their
excursion was extended no farther, and Fanny ab
sorbed in thought, left her companion the delight
ful pleasure of speaking as much and upon what
ever subject she pleased without contradiction, or
breaking the thread of her narratives so as to give

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 325

Rose a high idea of her condescension, and good
nature. When they returned to the Castle, Fanny
was shewn into the stately apartment she had occu
pied on her arrival tiie night before; but she en
treated that she might be allowed to remain in her
chamber, for she dreaded the idea of Lord
Ballafyn's expected arrival, and thought, if she did
not quit the precincts of her bed-room, she should
at least have notice when he came, and not be
liable to meet him unexpectedly.

The old woman indulged her in her request, and
her meals were served to her in her chamber. The
window of her closet was the favorite scene of her
contemplation, for from thence she could see the
distant rock, and she watched there after nightfall,
in spite of the remonstrances of Rose, in hopes of
seeing the apparition.

The moon rose in full splendor about midnight,
and reflected her brightness on the craggy summit
of the rock, as well as on the undulating bosom of
the restless ocean, whose waves dashed the adja
cent shore. Fanny gazed for a length of time
without seeing any object like the one she sought
for, and she was retiring from the window to seek
her pillow, when her attention was arrested by a
sight that filled her bosom with an awe unfelt
before that momentous period.

A tall slender figure seemed to rise suddenly
from one of the projections of the mysterious rock^
and standing on its summit, spread out its arms
towards the sea. The moon shone full upon the
figure, and rendered it so distinctly visible, that
Fanny could perceive the dark folds of the loose
robe that enveloped it, waving occasionally to the
breeze.

For awhile it seemed absorbed in contemplating
the mighty waters. Then starting suddenly, as
if called by some superior power, it dropped upon
its knees, and raising itsr clasped hands to Heaven,

14. 2 T

326 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

it appeared preferring some earnest petition to the
throne of mercy. Fanny's feelings were worked
up to such a pitch of enthusiastic awe, whilst
gazing at this strange phenomenon, that she could
not have uttered a syallable,or moved from thespot,
to purchase even liberty itself. Whilst she was
thus lost in silent wonder, the cause of it suddenly
disappeared ; and although Fanny's eyes were
fixed upon the figure at the moment it vanished,
she was unable even to conjecture how, or whither
it had departed. She stood for nearly half an hour
afterwards ri vetted to the spot, but the vision came
no more, and Rose having several times entreated
her to retire to her rest, Fanny was obliged to
comply.

Not a syllable did she utter to Rose of the appa
rition she had seen, for she well knew it would for
ever interdict her for walking to the rock ; which
place she now felt more than ever interested in
exploring ; for so entirely was her mind engrossed
by the desire of seeing her mother, that fear was
entirely forgotten, and she felt as if she could meet
the whole world of spirits, provided that beatified
being were amongst them.

The next day, directly after breakfast, Fanny
renewed her walk to the Rock, and Rose accom
panied her ; the latter was now provided with a
book to amuse her, whilst Fanny went upon her
adventurous expedition. As soon as she had left
Rose seated on the stone, and engaged with her
book, Fanny mounted the rock, and bent her foot
steps to the very spot, as nearly as she could judge,
where she had seen the figure the preceding night.
All was silence and desolation however, and she
was just about to return to Rose, whose patience
she was afraid of trying too severely, when she
thought she heard a slight noise behind her, and
turning round her head, she beheld through a
fissure in the Rock ; the very figure that had so

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 327

powerfully affected her mind the preceding
night.

The form was that of a woman, and although
clad in aloose robe, that seemed calculated rather
to hide than display its symmetry, it was impossible
not to perceive the grace that adorned its every
movement. The veil (hat covered her head was
thrown back, and displayed a face, in which the
traces of sorrow had anticipated the ravages of time
and robbed it of its beauty before age authorised the
theft; yet still a sweetness of expression remained
more interesting than beauty itself, and although
the fire of her eyes had been quenched with weep
ing, their languid beams were capable of penetrat
ing the heart, and exciting.it to affection.

Fanny stood entranced as she gazed upon the
awful vision, and scarcely daring to breathe, she
waited in silent expectation of its speaking to her.
She was however disappointed, for after looking
sometime with mournful earnestness in her face,
the figure uttered a deep sigh, and waving her
hand, as if forbidding Fanny to follow her instant
ly disappeared.

After a considerable time had elapsed, and no
sign of its returning, Fanny was obliged to leave
the Rock, and return with Rose to the Castle.
The impression her mind had received by the won
derful sight she had seen, kept Fanny silent as she
walked with Rose in her return ; but when she
had reached the Castle, all her thoughts were put
to flight by the news that awaited her there. Lord
Ballafyn was arrived, and had been enquiring for
her, and Mrs. Owen, the old housekeeper, was
waiting to conduct her to his lordship, as soon as
she came in.

At first Fanny refused to go with her, but on
Mrs. Owen's saying that she was sure Lord Balla
fyn would visit her in her bed-room, if she did not
obey his summons, she was obliged to submit, and

328 FATHERLESS FANNY; OB,

was accordingly conducted to the drawingroom..
She entered with evident reluctance, which Lord
Ballafyn perceiving, arose to meet her, and taking
her hand, said, — " You are welcome to Ireland my
pretty lass — upon my honour you are a devilish
handsome wench ; pray how long have you been
in keeping with my brother? Terror had hitherto
tyed Fanny's tongue, but indignation now burst
the bonds of silence.

"Unhandme my lord," said she, making a vio
lent effort to free herself from his grasp, '* nor
you, nor your base brother have any right to de
tain me a prisoner here, and friendless as you may
think me, you may find to your cost that 1 shall
be claimed, and powerfully too, by those who will
neither want the inclination nor the means to pu
nish the violence that has been done to me."

" Well said, my pretty little actress," said Lord
Ballafyn placing his back against the door to pre
vent Fanny from escaping at it, as he saw she was
meditating to do ; " Upon my honour I admire my
brother's taste so much that I have half a mind to
steal you from him; but perhaps you would not
like the exchange, for Ross is some years younger
than I am — what I suppose he sent you away for
fear jealous Eleanor should find out fair Rosa
mond's bower. Come, now, don't pout so my
pretty prisoner, for I will not let you pass until you
have paid toll."

Fanny was almost ready to die with terror, and
sinking into a chair, she sat fanning herself with her
handkerchief, to keep herself from fainting.

" 1 cannot think," said Lord B. " where I have
seen your face before : your features are quite fa
miliar to me/'

As he was speaking, Fanny lifted up her eyes to
his face, and instantly recollected his countenance;
it was that of the man who had insulted her in
Hyde Park, when Mr. Hamilton released her from

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 329*

the persecution; and the remembrance of his for
mer brutality added terror to the thought of being
so entirely in his power.

" Upon my soul," said his lordship, staring
rudely in Fanny's face, " I like that little vixen
look of your 's so well, and the air of modesty you
counterfeit, becomes you so much, that if you will
leave Ross and consent to live with me, 1 will
settle a vast deal more upon you than it is in his
power to do : and then if you behave well, and
wheedle meprettily, who knows but you may per
suade me to marry you ; and that you know is
what you can have no chance of with Ross. Come,
I see the storm that is gathering, and I hate female
hurricanes, so I will jet you go to your own
chamber, and you shall have four-and-twenty
hours to consider of the proposal. Ross will be
here in two days, so if you agree to my offer, it
must be settled before he comes, and you and I
must slip off until the breeze is blown over. Come
I will have a kiss, and then you shall go."

So saying, he clasped the terrinedFanny in his
arms, and almost smothered her with kisses.

Bursting from his grasp, by an effort of super
natural strength which terror supplied her with,
she escaped from further persecution, and flying
to her chamber, locked herself in ; then sinking
on a chair, a flood of tears came to her relief, and
saved her from fainting. Here she commended
herself to Him, who was alone able to defeat the
intentions of the wicked men into whose power
she had unhappily fallen ; her determination
neither to be intimidated by threats, normovedby
entreaties to unlock the door became fixed, and
Was the only preventative which she. could provide
for the preservation of her honor. It was in vain
that Rose, and Mrs. Owen, alternately applied for
admittance at her door, she resolutely refused to
admit them, nor would she take any of the faod

330 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

they brought her, because she must have opened
the door to receive it.

The state of mind in which the poor girl passed
that day, would be difficult to bescribe. Let the
fair reader for a moment contemplate this interest
ing female, removed from that circle in which she
was cherished, and beloved, torn by ruffian hands
from those she held dear, and that at a time when
fortune seemed to smile propitiously upon her — at
a time when her little bark, which so long buffet
ed the tempestuous seas of life, was to all appear
ance entering the haven of happiness — see her at
such a period, placed in the hands of an unprin-
pled and powerful man, and surely the tear of
sensibility will not be witheld ; and when the dark
ness of night surrounded her, and she found her
self without light, she could have almost com
promised herotherfears to have obtained a candle,
but she was now left to herself, for nobody came
near her; and as she was afraid to go to bed, she
opened her closet window, and stood watching the
distant Rock as the moon rose over the romantic
landscape.

The Autumn was far advanced, and the breeze
of night so chilling, that Fanny wras obliged to
retire from the open window, as she was shivering
with cold.

As she turned to go out of the closet into her
own room, a slight rap on the window made her
start. It was again repeated, and her eye plainly
perceived something white, in the form of a letter,
close to the casement.

Poor Fanny's heartbeat quick, as she watched
the strange appearance,but she summoned courage
enough to go to the window and open it. A piece
of paper, fastened to the end of a stick, presented
itself before her, which she took with a trembling
hand; but, alas! the moon-light was not suffi
ciently bright, at that moment, to enable her to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 231

decypherits contents; and the curiosity this oc
currence had awakened, made her hardy enough to
look out of the casement, to try whether she could
discover the person who had presented it to her.

On the top of the turret, beneath her window,
she could plainly perceive a man standing, with
his eyes raised to her apartment. His appearance
was so rough and forbidding, and the tattered
garments that clothed his athletic form, bespoke
him of the lowest order of people.

" What are the contents of this note, friend,"
said Fanny, in a low voice, leaning as far out of
the window as she could reach ; " do you know
what it contains."

Take it to the candle honey," said the man,
" you will see, in a jiffy, that it is from your own
sweet-heart, that is corned all the way from Eng
land to fetch you."

" I have not a candle,*' said Fanny, distressed
beyond measure that she had none.

"Well, never mind, honey," replied the man,
"you can go wid me, first, and read the note af
terwards."

" Go with you!" exclaimed Fanny. " How can
I go with you !''

" Oh the asyest thing in the world, jewel. Just
lend me your hand a wee bit, and then I'll lift you
down on this here place in a jiffy, and then leave
the jest to me. I have got a ladder below, that
will set you down on the ground as asy as a bird
flies."

" But I don't know you," said Fanny.

"Och, and that don't signify at all at all : for if
you don't know me, there's plenty that do, and
they'll tell you there's not a honester fellow in the
province of Ulster, than Dermot Macfarline; so
never mind about not knowing me."

" What, are you the man that brought me from

332 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

the sea-side here," asked Fanny, « 'on that wretched
carriage."

" Sure and I am," replied the honest Hibernian,
"and I have been watching about the place, to
and fro, ever since ; for my wife said she should
never sleep again, if any bad luck happened to
you." And so I met the young man that's a look
ing for you, and a tight young fellow he is, as ever
walked on shoe leather, and dearly, dearly, he
loves you, that's most sure. But come along,
honey, he is waiting yonder for you, and he'll be
bothering me for staying so long."

" But who is he? said Fanny, " for you know
I cannot read the note."

" Och, and 1 never heard the like before: not
to know your own sweetheart, without asking his
name. Well, to be sure, and its myself that never
put the question to him ; for I thought you must
know your own sweetheart : so you would, if you
could but read the bit of a letter he has sent you."

"I will read it to-morrow morning,1' said Fanny,
"as soon as it is light."

" Indeed, and that will be too late," said Der-
mot. "So, if you don't choose to read it till to
morrow morning, plase. to give it back to me, and
I'll take it to the poor youth that sent it; for there's
nothing so foolish as reading a letter when it is
too late to do what it bids you."

Fanny stood at the window, in the utmost dis
tress, with the letter in her hand. Her fears of
Lord Ballafyn, would have induced her to fly with
any pro tectorth at seemedto promise an honourable
asylum. But this appeared so strange an applica
tion, andthe person employed, so uncouth abeing,
that she could not help fearing that she might fall
into some dreadful snare, by listening to the invi
tation. At length, however, to her unspeakable
joy, the moon immerged from the clouds that had
pjbaded Jier brightness for the last half hour, and

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 33S

she was enabled to read the following words, on
the note she held in her hand : —

" Condescend, most lovely of women, to accept
the protection of one who would die to shelter you
from danger. The most imminent now threatens
your life. Your honour is not safe a single mo-
ment,whilstyouremain beneath the roof of the most
abandoned of men. I have followed you from
England, with a determination to rescue yourinno-
cence from the grasp of an oppressor, and have
been guided, by the hand of Heaven, to the man
sion that contains you. I cannot tell you the parti
culars now, fortimepresses; and if youescapenot
to-night, to-morrow will be too late. Fear not to
trust the honest creature that is the bearer of this ;
he would lay down his life to serve you ; you be
friended his family; and gratitude once awakened
in the bosom of an Irishman, is never after extin
guished. Oh, hesitate not an instant, but hasten
to the asylum prepared for you by your faithful

" ALBEMARLE."

Fanny put the note into her bosom, and, leaning
forward, asked Dermot " how she should get out
of the window?"

" Och, if you are coming, honey," said he, clap
ping his hands together for joy, " I'll fetch you the
little ladder in a jiffy ;" and as he spoke he disap
peared, and returned in a few minutes, with a
little hand-ladder, which he placed against the
window ; and Fanny, having pushed her slender
form through its narrow opening, was able to de
scend to her rough protector, with all the ease
imaginable. He begged her to close the case
ment; "and then, honey," said he, " they will
think that you have fled away up the chimney, or
that the banshee has taken you away through the
key-hole."

Fanny trembled so, as she descended from the
lower tower, that she had nearly slipped from Der-
No. 15. 2 u

334 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

mot's hold. — " By the/Powers," said he, " but you
frightened me so, that I sha'nt be myself again for
these two hours. A pretty story 1 should have had
to tell now, if you had broke your neck down that
bit of a pent-house there ; and a fine botheration
the young spark would have made at me for cheat
ing him of his sweetheart.

*' Pray do not talk in that style," said Fanny,
trembling, " I have no sweetheart, as you call it."

" Indeed and indeed but you have," answered
Dermot, " and so you'd say yourself, if you had
but heard all the poor young man had said about
you. I am sure he sot down in our cabin, and
talked about you a whole hour, till he made Judy,
and the children and myself cry."

" What could he be saying of me all that time?"
said Fanny, astonished that the Duke should have
been so imprudent.

" Och ! and he did not say much honey, for /
was the chief talker, for when I described your
journey to Ballafyn Castle, and the piteous look
you cast at your persecutors, he was just like one
beside himself, and he wiped his eyes and made
me tell the story over and over again.

"Then he wanted me to direct him where and
how he could get to speak to you ; but I told him
it was as much as his life was worth, and your's too,
if he should attempt to get into the house, and then
I told him the story about poor Lady Ballafyn, and
the Gentleman that came and tried to see her, and
how I knew he was sent off, nobody could tell
where.

" And when I let him into the secret about the
poor Lady's escaping from that spalpeen of a
Lord of hers, and told him who got her off— Och!
it was / was the clever fellow wid him directly:
but come, Miss, let us make haste, for we are
not safe whilst we are in reach of the devils that
live in that Castle."

Fanny now laid hold of Dermot's arm, without

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 335

hesitation, and almost flew along, to keep pace
with his rapid strides. She soon found that they
were making- towards the haunted rock.

" Whither are we going?" said she, for she felt
alarmed, as she recollected, that she had looked
from the summit, without observing one decent
habitation.

" Be easy, Miss," replied Dermot, " you are
going to such a safe place, that the Devil himself
will notbe able to find you," and he almostdragged
her towards the rock.

" Oh Heavens!" exclaimed Fanny, almost faint
ing with terror, " for what am I reserved?" and
she dropped from Dermot's arm upon the stone
where Rose had sat when she accompanied her ia
her morning rambles.

" Miss," said Dermot, stopping at the same
moment, " it is a very hard case you cannot be
lieve a man is honest, becase you see he is poor.
Och ! and 'tis that same reason makes the English
and the Irish that they can never agree, they are
always bodering one another with their suspi
cions ; look ye here, Miss, you did a kindness to
my poor family, without asking, and sure I have a
right to return the favour, without asking too.

" Fifteen years ago I saved abeautiful lady from
being murdered ; I was but a youngster then, but I
had a stout heart, and neither minded man nor
devil in a good cause. You will see that lady
presently, and she will tell you that Dermot Mac-
farlane is worthy to be trusted.

" That rock, which now goes by the name of
the haunted rock, is the private entrance to a house
at nearly half a mile distance ; that house is in
habited by a few nuns, who, afraid of having their
retreat discovered, generally receive what neces
saries they stand in need of by this road. I am
the person who waits upon them, and it was 1 \vlio
persuaded them to receive Lady Ballafyn amongtf

336 "FATHERLESS FANNY; On,

them, when the poor soul did not know where to
fly.

"At that time I was a servant at the Castle,
and I discovered what was going on, and deter
mined to save the Lady : so her maid and I laid
our heads together, and contrived to get her off one
night ; and it was reported she died, and glad
enough my Lord was, for he mortally hated her;
and there was a fine funeral, but she's not dead,
poor so ul, she's as live as you are, only she's a little
wild at times, rather cracked or so ; for though
she could not abide Lord Ballafyn when she lived
\vith him, yet the nuns say, she has done nothing
but talk of her poor dear husband ever since she
has been there, and always insists upon it that he
was murdered.

" Her maid set off for England, poor soul, soon
after her lady went into the nunnery, on purpose
to tell her Ladyship's friends where she was, but
the poor soul was drowned in her passage, so I
suppose I am the only person that knows a word
of the matter.

" As to the poor Lady, she is quite melancholy
like, and would not leave the nuns if it was ever
so ; and she walks sometimes upon the rock, but
she is safe enough of being discovered, for nobody
would go near her for all the world. She is
called the Banshee, and avoided by every crea
ture like the Devil's own- self."

It is impossible to describe Fanny's emotions
whilst listening to this tale of wonder. She had
there seen her mother! and the person whose
honesty she had doubted, and whose protection
shehad feared, was the champion of that distressed
parent ! She arose immediately from the stone she
was seated on, and seizing Dermot's arm —

" Let us hasten, my good friend," said she,
" to the asylum you have promised me ; all my
doubts are at an end, and I will soon convinceyou
that I am not your inferior in gratitude."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

They soon reached the, rock, and ascended its
craggy sides, then winding amidst its mazes, they
came to the identical spot where the figure had
disappeared from Fanny the morning before.

Near this spot Dermot lifted a lose stone that
lay at his feet, and shewed his astonished com
panion the entrance to a spacious cavern. The
light of a torch, held by a man muffled up in a
large great coat, illumined the gloomy chamber,
and Fanny was presently convinced by his voice
that this was the Duke of Albemarle. " I have
waited here with a degree of suspence and anxiety
almost insupportable. I feared that Dermot would
not succeed in persuading you to come, lovely
Fanny, if he was even so happy as to obtain the
power of speaking to you ; but thank God you
are come, and I hope now out of the reach of
danger."

" I was not a bit afraid of being able to speak
to Miss," said Dermot, " becuse I knoiced she
watched at her window every night almost, and 1
saw her a good bit before I spoke to her, because
I was afraid of flustering her; but, oh by the
powers, I have had a tight job to persuade her
to come, for she was afraid of trusting me, poor
jewel, she little thought it was impossible for her
to fall into worse hands than she was in already."

" I beg your pardon for my doubts,"' said Fanny,
" and I hope you will never have cause to com
plain of such ingratitude again. As to you, Sir,''
continued she, turning towards the Duke, "lan
guage is inadequate to express what I feel for
your goodness to a poor forlorn creature like me.
Oh if you knew what a wretch your timely inter
ference has delivered me from, your generous
heart would feel gratified in the consciousness of
bestowing happiness."

The Duke took Fanny by the hand, but was
unable to reply, and giving the torch to Dermot,

538 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

he led the lovely object of his affections through
the long dark passage that led through the caverns
of the rock to the house where the friendly nuns
resided.

Fanny was received by the sisterhood with the
greatest kindness ; they had been waiting up for
her, and observing her pale looks and faint voice,
they insisted upon her taking some refreshment
which was prepared for her.

The Duke and Dermot were now obliged to
retire, after commending the precious charge a
thousand times to their care; the former, however,
promised to return on the morrow, and inform
Fanny of the means by which he had been so for
tunate as to trace her footsteps, and ultimately re
lease her from her bondage.

As soon as they were gone, Fanny enquired
after the object of her constant thoughts; the lady,
she had been informed, was an inmate of their hos
pitable mansion , at first they seemed unwilling
to admit that Lady Ballafyn was really amongst
them; but when they found that she was in full
possession of the particulars, they admitted the
fact.

" Oh, where is the lovely sufferer now," said
Fanny; "is she reposing? Oh that I might be
hold her to-night, my heart cannot rest, until I
have embraced her."

" Why does Lady Ballafyn interest you so
much, my dear ?" asked the superior. " It is im
possible you can ever have seen Tier."

" Yes 1 have, 1 am sure I have, I saw her on the
rock yesterday ; I took her for an inhabitant of
another world. Ah, if she knew it is a daughter
that languishes to embrace her, she would fly with
open arms to receive me."

" A daughter !" reiterated the superior ; good
Heavens, what do you mean ?" But before Fanny-
had time to reply, the figure that she had seen

THE LITTLE MENDICANT 339

upon the rock the preceding clay, rushed into the
room, and folding Fanny in her arms, strained her
to her bosom in a fond embrace, and then sunk
lifeless on the floor.

It was some time before the efforts of the nuns
could restore the poor sufferer to life, and during
the time the swoon lasted, the distraction of Fanny
was beyond all bounds. She thought she had
killed her mother, and had not her parent revived,
it is but too probable her daughter would have
expired also.

At length, however, she opened her eyes, and
the first object they sought was the dear child,
whose sudden appearance had so nearly closed
them for ever. A thousand incoherent questions,
a thousand tender endearments were mutually ex
changed; but as neither was capable of bearing
an explanation at that moment, the superior in
sisted upon their retiring to bed, and deferring the
elucidation of the wonderful mystery until the
morrow.

"Then my child shall not quit me" said Lady
Ballafyn, holding Fanny's hand tight between both
her's, as if she feared somebody would run away
with her. " She shall occupy my pallet, and I
will watch beside her pillow: sleep has been long
a stranger to these eyes ; but, Oh, when have they
awaked to joy like this!"

" Your daughter and you shall occupy my bed.'*
said the superior, " which you know is big enough
to hold you both; and then I trust that when the
first ebullitions of joy have subsided, nature will
assert her rigiits, and sleep restore your exhausted
faculties."

We will now leave the enraptured mother, and
the not less delighted child, to the enjoyment of a
bliss too mighty tor utterance, and introduce the
reader to Lady Caroline's husband.

340 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Sir Christopher Desmond.

SIR Christopher Desmond was descended from
one of the most honourable families in the sister
kingdom, but being the son of a younger brother,
^vvas early in life obliged, with little more than a
good education, to enter the world, and depend
for his future success on those resources which a
mind naturally strong and highly cultivated might
supply. Although the many restrictions which
political foresight once thought necessary to enact
for the preservation of Protestant ascendancy in
Ireland, could not militate against Desmond, his
family having, soon after the accession of Eliza
beth, embraced the doctrines of the Established
Church ; yet, his maternal uncle enjoying a chief
command in the armies of the Austrian monarch,
he determined on seeking his fortune in that
clime. Few were his regrets when the last point
of his native land faded from the anxious sight,
and seemed to blend imperceptibly with the ho
rizon. " I will never dishonour thee, * Land of
my Sires,' " exclaimed Desmond, while the tear
and blush, engendered by national enthusiasm,
met and were absorbed in each other. He left
the deck to hide those feelings which are too often

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 341

the scorn and ridicule of the sordid and the heart
less. On the voyage he became acquainted with
a young1 Englishman, whose mind and disposition
would, in the days of chivalry, be held up as an
example worthy of imitation. To a boldness of
idea and quickness of decision, was added that
solidity of judgment which foreigners so justly
attribute to the British nation. An enthusiastic
warmth ran through his speeches, yet neither that
nor the eccentricity of his manners removed the
favourable impression he made even at first sight.
The convulsions which disfigured the face of Con
tinental Europe about this period had engaged, ia
a very great degree, his most anxious thoughts;
and his ardent disposition was continually urging
him to take an active part in the passing events.
The voyage to Hamburgh, though short, yet so
much in unison were the souls of these youths, it
proved of sufficient duration for them to form a
friendship as firmly cemented, as the materials of
which humanity is composed had the capability
of effecting.

The word farewell was equally dreadedby each
of these amiable and manly youths as the mandate
of eternal separation. Digby, with a generosity
that did honor to his noble disposition, offered to
share his fortune with his friend, that they might
mix in the same scenes, enjoy the same pleasures,
bear the same hardships, and receive the same
rewards, or bear alike with hero-nerve the frowns
of the fickle goddess. Desmond, though deeply
affected by this mark of friendship, refused the
princely proffer ; his love of independence was
too great and exalted to allow him to become the
satellite of any human being. Upon his refusal,
the friends, with mutual regret and minds deeply
impressed with ideas of respect towards each
other, parted ; Digby in quest of adventures, and
our hero to commence his career as a soldier.
15. 2x

342 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

Desmond pursued his route towards Vienna,
and arrived there as the army, which the Emperor
was organizing to act in conjunction with the Rus
sian and Prussian forces, had commenced their
march for ill-fated Poland. Having presented his
letters of recommendation, and waited upon his
uncle, who immediately adopted him as his son,
and declared him heir to all his property, his first
leisure moments were devoted to friendship and
affection : to his mother, whom he tenderly loved
he sent a particular accountof whatever he thought
worthy of her notice, which occurred since his de
parture from home ; toDigby he directed a packet,
under cover to that gentleman's banker at Ham
burgh, in which his hopes and his views were more
particularly explained. He had not been long in
Vienna before he was appointed to a lieutenancy
in Baron Humbolt's regiment of hussars, and, as
they were ordered into actual service, he joined
them immediately.

Scarce had the troops entered the Polish terri
tories, than the left wing of the army was attacked
by a considerable body of lancers, aided by an
undisciplined and badly armed peasantry. Their
onset was as the rushing of the mountain- torrent,
but the coolness displayed by the Austrians in re
pelling this impetuous charge, made the Poles,
from being the assailants, become the assailed —
their lines were broken — to rally was impossible;
Humbolt's regiment sustained the post of honor,
and Desmond received particularly the thanks of
the commander-in-chief ; this flattering mark of
commendation, thus publicly bestowed, served as
an incitement to future acts of glory. As they ad-
vancedinto theinterior of the country, and actions
became more frequent, his mind, naturally humane
and benevolent, made him regret that he was forced
by his circumstances to continue in a profession
so replete with evil to mankind ; those ideas often

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 343

employed his mind, while he viewed the rough
and unprincipled soldiery, inflated with victory,
plundering the houses of that God whom they
themselves worshipped, and burning the humble
dwellings of the miserable inhabitants. One even
ing Desmond, now advanced to a captaincy, was
ordered to proceed with a detachment and attack
a position held by the enemy a few miles in ad
vance of Warsaw ; this service he performed with
his usual ability, and took possession of the re
doubt, but the miscreant band, few of whom had
any of the qualifications necessary to form a true
soldier, save courage and a mechanical obedience
to their officers, had set fire to a neighbouring vil"
lage ; actuated by motives of humanity, he imme
diately proceeded to the spot, in order to restrain,
if possible, their brutal violence. At the farther end
of the village he observed two hussars dragging a
female from a house, while others of their com
panions applied firebrands to the dwelling : the
intention of the hussars being easily perceived, no
time was to be lost. " Wretches," exclaimed he,
" desist/' — 'Twas the voice of their commander;
and, growling like the disappointed hyaena, they
reluctantly resigned their devoted victim. The
fire, which had now spread from habitation to habi
tation, and like a beacon marked to the philan
thropist " the unkindness of man to man," gave
him a full view of the female he had saved from
pollution. He saw her, and cold and phlegmatic
must he be who would not admire ; her form was
symmetry itself, and the soul of sensibility diffusing
its rays over one of the most beauti ful coun ten ances
nature ever formed, rendered the tiirid fair one
almost irresistible. She raised her hurried eyes,
and, encountering his, seemed to say, "am I safe!"
The language of nature is understood by all — 'tis
the converse of soul with soul ; and Desmond
broke this expressive silence by assuring her, in

344 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

that language with which he had from his earliest
infancy been used to clothe his thoughts, "that she
was safe." The lady started at the sound — joy
enlivened her countenance — she grasped his hand,
and, pressing it to her lips, cried out in an ecstacy,
"I am safe! you are an Englishman!" and fainted.
After procuring for her all the assistance the place
could supply, he had her conveyed to a hut, whose
sequestered situation had saved it from destruc
tion, and then proceeded to inspect the posts, and
put the redoubt in the best possible state of de
fence, fearful, from its vicinity to Warsaw, that
some sudden attack might be made before more
troops could arrive.

Returning to the hut, Desmond found the fair
object of his solicitude recovered from her agita
tion ; and, as she thanked him for his protection,
the gratitude which enlivened her countenance
gave fresh charms to her beauty. Eager as he
was to learn something of the history of this in
teresting female, his sense of delicacy was such
that he refrained from those intrusive questions by
which impertinent curiosity generally defeats its
own intentions.

However, the lady informed him that she was
betrothed to a young Englishman, who served as
a volunteer in the Polish army, and that her father
had approved of the attachment, not only from a
desire of conducing to her happiness, but also from
the wish he had long cherished of emigrating to
England ; this wish he was now realizing, and the
last letter she received from her dear parent, the
Count Ponituski, was dated from Dantzic, on
board the United States' ship Amelia, bound to
Hull. It was her intention to proceed immediately
to the same port, in company with a faithful do
mestic, to whose care herfatherhad entrusted her.
Her lover, she continued, would shortly follow,
being to be united to him on their meeting in that

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 345

kingdom. The lady was now beginning to launch
forth, in describing the fairy scenes of felicity which
her youthful imagination had been pourtraying to
her mind, when the delightful theme was inter
rupted by the sudden intrusion of a hussar, who
informed Desmond that a numerous body of troops,
whether friends or enemies he could not say, were
observed marching towards the post. Desmond,
impelled by his sense of duty, apologised to the
fair narrator, and withdrew, in order to examine
into the truth of the soldier's report. He found it
correct, and knowing them to be Poles, he put him
self on the defence, conceiving that his post was
the object which they intended to attack. The
situation of the lady became next his most mo
mentous concern.

She had given him to understand that her in
tention was, as soon as possible, to proceed to
England, and join her father, where, upon the ar
rival of her lover, she conceived her earthly happi
ness would commence. Desmond's cousin, the
Lady Augusta Dunboyne, of Fitzroy-square,
London, had a heart that sympathised in the dis
tresses of the sons and daughters of affliction, and
in her hospitable mansion the expatriated child of
misfortune was sure of a safe asylum. To this lady's
notice he intended to introduce the beautiful and
interesting Polish damsel. Seating himself upon a
bank, he hastily wrote the following note : —

Dear Lady Augusta,

The best excuse I can offer for
being so laconic in my epistle, is the exposed situa
tion I am in ; for, before old time has swallowed
another hour, the noise and tumult of war, and all
its attending evils, will surround your cousin. You
may smile when the fair messenger delivers this to
you, and say, that Mars had, at last, surrendered
his liberty to Venus; but in this conjecture, my dear
Augusta, you are wrong. I am still invulnerable

346 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

to the shafts of his little godship ; indeed, if the
balls of the Poles make no more impression upon
me than the arrows of Cupid, you may expect to
see me before long. The lady, to whom this is to
be an introductory letter to your ladyship's favor,
is the daughter of a Polish Grandee ; and as there
is nothing so erroneous, in my opinion, as to stop
the loquacity of a fair female by forestalling her
story, I leave the explanation to herself. This
may be the last favour I can request of you. The
outposts are already engaged. My respects to
Dunboyne. Adieu.

Your's, &c.

CHRISTOPHER DESMOND.

He sent the above to the lady by his servant,
giving him his purse, and an order to accompany
the fair fugitive to Dantzic.

The servant and his beautiful charge had but
just cleared the precincts of the post, when the
attack began ; the Poles, headed by a youth that
seemed to place danger at defiance, displayed in
this re-encounter more than- their wonted courage
— they became irresistible — the Austrians gave
way ; in short, they were obliged to abandon the
redoubt. Desmond, and the few that escaped the
slaughter retreated upon their main body ; in the
action, his lieutenant, for whom he had a high es
teem, was severely wounded by the youthful leader
of the 'assailants ; his wounds becoming painful,
and the enemy not demonstrating any desire of
pursuit, Desmond ordered his little band to halt.
Then, upon nature's bed, under the green canopy of
heaven, the tired warrior stretched his weary limbs.
Itwasaglen, fertile, yet wildly beautiful; on either
side were hit Is covered with trees, whose luxuriance
charmed and invited the weary traveller to take
shelter in their umbrage, while the meridian sun
held its mid-day reign — a rivulet gently meander
ing through the meadows and corn-fields of this

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 347

delightful valley, with the songs of the feathered
tribe, sweetly broke the silence which nature
seemed to have imposed upon this retired spot.
Here Desmond's contemplative mind according
with the scene, began to dwell upon the evils
with which war is fraught. Around me are scat
tered cottages uninhabited — there the luxuriant
meadows are without the stately horse, or more
useful ox — the fields untilled, and this terrestrial
paradise wasting its capabilities — all through the
detestable ambition of men. God of nature, hast
thou created man to annoy his fellow man, hast
thou endowed him with reason, and bestowed
superior intellect upon him that he might the
better decoy, deceive, and destroy ? No, 'twould
be blasphemy to harbour the idea for a moment.
Thou art a God of peace, and thy peace, conti
nued Desmond, passeth all understanding.

He was aroused from this reverie, by the noise
of approaching troops ; they were Austrians, and
having been detached for the sole purpose of
aiding him, they began to lay plans for the re
taking of the post, which the commander-in-chief
considered of the first importance, as it command
ed one of the principal entrances into the city.
The Poles, weakened by disasters, could not place
their out-posts in such numbers as to give the
slightest probability of their defending them with
any hopes of success. The Imperials moved
forward, and no sooner did they appear before
the redoubt than it was abandoned by the Poles.
Desmond once more renewed his applications to
the Austrian court for leave to return, to his native
land, but like the former ones he had made, it re
mained unanswered. However, although his aver
sion to the military life daily encreased, his known
courage, skill and perseverance pointed him out
to those in command, as a person fit to be entrusted
with enterprizes of the greatest moment, and on

348 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

this account, scarce aday passed without his being
actively engaged.

One day, being on a reconnoitering party, he
was surprised by the besieged, wounded, and
taken prisoner. As soon as he was recovered
from his wounds, he obtained permission to pro-
manade particular parts of the city, and as he
was enjoying this liberty, the veteran warrior and
patriot Kossiusko crossed his way ; all eyes were
directed towards him, and among the rest Des
mond's;— but what was his astonishment, when
among the officers which attended the General, he
recognized Digby, the enthusiastic the generous
Digby; — their glances met, quick almost as their
thoughts the friends flew towards each other, —
their surprise was mutual — their pleasure equal —
their embrace cordial and sincere.

Digby, after having obtained for his friend an
extension of his liberty, took him to his quarters.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT 319

CHAPTER XXXVIII,

The Fair Marian.

No sooner were they seated than Digby began
to relate to his impatient and attentive friend the
various adventures into which he had fallen since
their separation at Hamburgh. Desmond soon
found out by his narrative, that although Digby
had been fighting for the liberty of the people
among whom he resided, yet he had surrendered
himself a willing captive to a female, whom he
described as concentrating within herself all that
was attractive and charming in woman. Desmond
expressing a wish to be introduced to this incom
parable lady, his friend's face became suddenly
o'ercast with the deepest marks of sorrow. " My
friend," answered Digby, " there is, at present,
too much mystery, for my peace of mind, over the
fate of my dear Marian. When first I entered
into the service of this ill-fated country, I became
acquainted with a nobleman, whose high patriotic
notions were so congenial to my own, that an in
timacy commenced, which in time ripened into
friendship. The consciousness that his country
would be degraded from her rank as a nation,

15. 2Y

350 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

and her laws and her liberties expire under the
overwhelming force of the invaders, he ag%reed to
proceed, the first opportunity, to England, and
there secure a retreat for himself and daughter,
the lady to whom I have promised eternal con
stancy. A few weeks back, the father, in hopes
of realizing his plans, commenced his journey to
wards England, and the lovely Marian followed,
in company with a trusty domestic ; but having
an uncle to whom she was much attached, and
who commanded a detachment stationed about
four miles in advance of this city, she visited him
for the purpose of taking her last farewell ; she
had been but a short time in his company when
the place was attacked by a party of Austrians,
and her uncle was obliged precipitately to retreat.
Arriving in Warsaw that night, and waiting on me,
he told the dreadful tale. Immediately I flew to
all that I had the least influence with, and full of
that ardour which love gives to the human soul, I
succeeded in obtaining anumerous body offriends,
determined to retake the redoubt, and rescue my
loved Marian from the power of those whom I
had every reason to expect were base and un
principled. We succeeded in dislodging the ene
my, and I instantly began to search for her who
was dearer to me than my own existence— but
the search was in vain.

" On entering a hut, which seemed to be the
only one that escaped the demoniacal fury of the
Austrians, my anxiety was relieved, in a great
measure, by a letter which I found there directed
to me. One circumstance which it contained,
however, gave me, and does, nay my friend, it will
ever embitter my life; the letter mentioned, that
her honor and her existence had been saved by
the interposition of the officer who commanded,
and that that officer was an Englishman ; adding,
that he had sent his servant to escort her to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 351

Dantzic. When we attacked the place, (conti
nued Digby,) mad with the thought of my Marian
being exposed to the brutal ferocity of the sol
diery, J, with an avidity almostinconceivable even
to myself, fell upon my foes indiscriminately; my
example was followed by those under my com
mand; I wounded, and I think severely, tbeyoung
man who acted so honorably by my Marian.
Shocked at the ungrateful return that war makes,
I am determined 'to relinquish the sword ; and if
ever again I should draw it in anger, it must be
in defence of Old England."

Desmond had now the elucidation of the young
lady's history, and relieved Digby from his un
easiness by relating what he knew of her. The
gratitude of Digby was excessive when he learned
that it was his friend who saved his Marian.
Desmond informing him of the determination he
had formed of returning to his native land, Digby
agreed to accompany him, nor was it long before
a circumstance occurred which enabled them to
proceed on their journey. By the arrival of
an Austrian flag of truce, several letters were
brought to the prisoners ; among which there
were two for Desmond, one from home, directed
to him as Sir Christopher Desmond, the contents
of which were, that Sir Hugh Desmond had
died without children, and he being the next heir,
the family title and estate devolved, of course, on
him. The other was from the Austrian cabinet,
with liberty for him to retire, and, that they might
mark the high sense they entertained of his ser
vices, it was accompanied by the Cross of Maria
Theresa.

Desmond, now as independent as pecuniary
concerns could make him, set off in company with
Digby, and embarking at Dant/ic proceeded with
a fair wind on their voyage. They had not been
many days on the ocean, when a lady ofthename

352 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

of Watkins, whose husband was American Con
sul for some time at Dantzic, and who, for com
mercial reasons, had removed to England, was
playing with her sweet smiling little cherub on the
deck, the vessel suddenly heaved, and the dear
innocent was precipitated into the ocean. Digby,
who was near the spot apparently lost in thought,
perceived the perilous situation of the child, cast
ing a glance at the distracted mother, plunged
into the deep, and, as if fortune favored his under
taking, he seized the little innocent with one hand,
and keeping himself buoyant with the other, he
held the poor baby up to the view of the agonized
mother : a boat, which a vessel at no great dis
tance was sending to the brig on board of which
Digby had taken his passage, took him and the
child, and was proceeding with them to the vessel,
when the convoy made the signal of an enemy in
sight ; this induced the men in the boat to return
to their own ship, in spite of all the remonstrances
of Digby.

The perturbation of the distressed parent had
just subsided, and though she longed to embrace
her little one, yet the consolation of knowing it
was safe, gave her relief; her frequent swoons had
subsided, and that noble eloquence which nature
teaches us in thehour of distress was poured forth
in prayers to the God of mercy, calling upon him
to bless the kind preserver of her boy. But, how
are our prospects blighted, our hopes dissolved,
and our anticipations worse than folly! Unlocked
for circumstances— events trivial in themselves,
gi\e a bias, perhaps, to our lives, as unexpected as
momentous. The mother, fondly looking towards
the vessel where maternal love and gratitude now
centered her ideas, offered any sum to the captain
if he would put her on board the other vessel, or
have the child and his presen erconv eyed on board
his own. The honest tar, with tears in his eyes,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 353

refused the request. He had valuables to a con
siderable amount entrusted to his care, and as they
were safe, he advised her to rest contented, and
that as soon as they were clear of the enemy, he
would immediately have them conveyed onboard.
The French vessels now hove in sight, and the
vessel to which Digby was taken, being a heavy
sailer, was captured. The mother again became
disconsolate; andDesmond,knowingthe sanguine
disposition of his friend, felt a deep regret at his
fate. The French vessels soon gave up the chase,
and, tacking about, made the best of their way to
France, but not before the captain of the privateer
put the child on board an American merchantman,
that was proceeding with the English traders.
Digby seized this opportunity to convey a letter to
his friend Desmond, in which he expressed his hap
piness at being instrumental in the preservation of
the dear little boy, and that the pleasuse he ex
perienced from the transaction more than compen
sated for the attending evils. He conjured him, by
every tie of friendship, to seek out his Marian and
her father, and be a protector to them until he
could relieve him from the office. Mrs. Watkins's
happiness was at its height when she clasped her
infant to her bosom ; yet sorrow might be seen
sweetly blending itself on the expressive counte
nance of the enraptured mother: he that saved her
child had lost his liberty — perhaps a domestic cir
cle anxiously awaited his arrival, or a dear partner,
from whose embrace he, had been long severed,
daily looked for his return; thoughts such as
these made the rapturous pleasure, which Mrs.
Watkins just experienced, subside into a melan
choly feeling.

We must now leave Digby for a time to his fate,
while we follow SirChristopher to England. Mrs.
Watkins, on theirlanding, wasmetbyherhusband,
after informing him of the transactions of the

354 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

voyage, lie pressed Desmond, with an eagerness
that would notadmitof a refusal, to make his house
liis home while he remained in London ; this offer
was accepted, and he accompanied the happy cou
ple to their dwelling. The fateof poorDigby cast a
gloomoverDesmond'scountenance,particularlyas
his cousin Lady Augusta Dunboyne had but a few
days before his arrival left town for her country seat
inlreland. He had written to his relative for informa
tion on this subject, but it would be some time be
fore an answer could arrive from thatkingd om ; that
Marian had arrived inEngland he was well assured,
as his servant, after seeing her safe on board, had
brought him a letter from her, couched in words of
the warmestgratitude, wherein he was informed by
her of the name of the vessel, &c. This letter, from
the length of time he was prisoner, and his servant
not seeing him until he was nigh upon quitting Po
land, he read and gave toDigby; that the vessel in
which she took her passage had arrived safe, Mr.
Watkins being a merchant, soon obtained informa
tion that set all doubts on that head perfectly at rest.
To try to divert his thoughts from the melancholy
channel in which they began to glide, Mr. and Mrs
Watkins strove to draw him towards the places of
public amusement. A new performer having to
make his appearance at Covent Garden, they
agreed to go and see him pass the public ordeal.
He had but just appeared -on the stage when Des
mond glancing at the countenances of those who
surrounded him in hopes of reading the performer's
sentence, his eyes encountered those of Marian,
which seemed doubtingly, though eagerly, to ex
amine his features : he bowed, and with a smile of
recognition acknowledged she was right. Without
heeding thecuriousg;izcof the audience she flew to
Desmond, and embraced him as her tutelary angel.
Pleased as he was with the rencontre, yet there
was with her in the box a young lady of in com-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 355

parablebeautythatmade the first impressionwhich
love ever engraved on his heart. Marian quitted
him for a moment, and returning, informed him
that he would oblige her if he would accompany
her after the performance to thehouse of her bene
factress; this Desmond promised, and proceeding
at the conclusion of the piece to fulfil his engage
ment, a man of foppish appearance detained him,
conceiving that Desmond, by too abruptly passing
him, deserved a reprimand; the altercation caused
considerable delay, and when he arrived in the
lobby, neither the fair Pole nor her agreeable
companion could be found. Chagrined and dis
appointed, he sought his host and hostess, and
informing them of the untoward adventure, they
advised him to attend the theatre for a few suc
cessive nights, in hopes of again meeting her, this
advice he adopted, but to no manner of purpose.
One morning before he arose, he heard an un
common bustle in the ho use, this appeared the more
remarkable to him, as the regularity of Mrs. Wat-
kins?s establishment wasproverbiiil; on his entering
the breakfast parlour, he was agreeably surprised
by meeting an assemblage of those mercantile gen
tlemen, for whom Mr. W. always expressed the
highestrespect. " This day," said the host, "is the
birth-day of my little boy, and I hope Sir Chris
topher, you will he happy, not only with us, but
with the friend of your bosom ;" at this moment a
door whicfy led from the parlour to an adjoining
room was opened, and Digby, with all the warmth
of manly friendship, grasped the offered hand of
Desmond. Immediately after, the Count Ponituski
was presented to the company, and upon being in
troduced to Desmond, he thanked him for the kind-
nrss-he had clone his daughter, and hoped in the
day of disasters, none of his relatives might want
a defender. Mr.\V atkins, striving to thank Digby
tor his noble conduct towards his son, was over-

356

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

come by his feelings — the generous youth felt for
the parent, and assured him that their ties to each
other were reciprocal; in the preserving* ofyourson
I had a pleasure, but you have bestowed .upc^n me
what is dearer than life, my liberty. After break
fast, Digby, when Mr. W. retired, briefly related
the circumstances of the voyage, and informed
them, " That from the military air which he had
acquired among the Poles, the captain of the pri
vateer conceived him to be an officer in the British
service, and but for that, he should have been put
on board the American ship. That after being a,
few days in prison, an order arrived from theFrench
Government for his release, and passportsgivenhim,
for Hamburgh, together with a letter to be pre
sented to the American Consul there. What was
his astonishment when arriving in that city, to find
that it was through the influence of a Mr.Watkins
that his liberty was granted, and the letter con
tained a bill of credit on one of the first bankers
of the place, together with a request that he would
as soon as he landed in England call on him, and
make his house his home? To this request he had
acceeded, and found that Mr. W. was the father
of the child he saved from a watery grave. The
vessel in which I had taken my passage not being
ready to sail," continued Digby, " I strolled about
to kill time, for my mind was too much engaged by
a particular object to think of any thing else. I
accidentally fell in with my respected friend the
Count Ponituski. The vessel in which he had
embarked for England had been wrecked on the
coast of Holland, and he was at that period striv
ing to procure a passage over, but for want of
money he was fearful of accomplishing hispurpose.
1 relieved his mind on this head, the Count em
barked with me, and we arrived at this hospitable
mansion late last night, and had the inexpressible
happiness of learning from our kind host that Ma-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 357

Han is in the metropolis, and under the protection
of a lady, who, from the appearance she made,
was of exalted rank." Digby, with all the eager
ness of a lover, wished immediately to set forward
on the enquiry for his dear Marian, nor was the
father less anxious- to behold his daughter; but
this was over-ruled by Desmond, and the con
vivial party continued together, encreasingin the
esteem of each other, until a late hour.

The next morning, as they were preparing to
proceed on their enquiries, a letter arrived, di
rected to Sir Christopher Desmond ; it was from
Lady Augusta Dunboyne, in which she informed
him, that the lady he had recommended to her
protection was fully entitled to it. Amiable in
disposition, and polished in manners, she was the
delight of the circle into which she had been in
troduced : she is at present, continued Lady
Augusta, under the protection of the Lady Ellin-
court, of whose fair daughter she cautioned her
cousin. Few had a sounder judgment than
Digby, and on the proposition that they should
wait on Marian at Lady Ellincourt's, he objected,
although he ardently wished to see her, saying,
that as Desmond had already conversed with her,
and as it was through him that she was placed in
her present situation, it would be best for him to
wait on her, and explain all the circumstances
relative to himself and her father, and when she
was prepared for the interview, they would wait
upon her. This plan of acting was adopted, and
Sir Christopher proceeded to Lady Ellincourt's
residence, where, presenting his card, he Mas in
stantly ushered into the presence of Lady E. who
received him with that sweet condescension of
manners which characterizes the lady of high rank
and mental endowments.

After complimenting him on the conduct he
pursued in respect to Marian, she introduced him

No. 10. 2 z

358 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

to that lady, and to her own lovely daughter
Caroline, in whom he recognized the female whose
beauty made such an impression upon him at the
theatre. Desmond, when the first ebullition of
Marian's gratitude subsided, informed the atten^
tive fair one of the intimacy which subsisted be-
tweenhim and Digby, of their meeting at Warsaw,
tli eir departure from thence to England, the occur
rences on the voyage, and lastly, his being at pre
sent in London. The various passions which al
ternately illumined and depressed the expressive
countenance of Marian, shewed to the observer
what passed in the mind during this recital. When
Desmond said that Digby was in the metropolis,
her eyes sparkled with pleasure, but regret, like a
passing cloud, dimmed their lustre. "Ohheaven!"
she exclaimed, " was but my dear father here, my
happiness would he complete." " Your happiness
is complete — he is in London, and with Digby."
" Oharbinger of good— messenger of glad tidings,
thou hast realized my fondest hope — let me fly to
the dear, fond, the wished-for, kind, paternal em
brace." Lady Ellincourt participated in her
feelings, and, ordering her coach, proceeded with
Desmond and Marian to Mr. Watkins's. To de
scribe the interview between the father and the
daughter — the lover and beloved, would be im
possible. A performer may interest, by personi
fying the passions, but it is only for the moment;
for the knowledge of a want of reality dispels the
fiction : this scene was nature, it spoke in a lan
guage which reached the heart, and impressed it
self upon the feelings so iirmly, that the powers
of time were not adequate to its removal. The
party rose high in Lady Ellincourt's estimation,
for among the greatest blessings bestowed by na
ture on mankind, she reckoned that of a heart full
of the milk of human kindness the first. The ex
pression of their feelings having assumed a calmer

THE LITTLE MENDICANT 359

aspect, Lady Ellincotirt requested the party to
accompany her home, and spend the remainder of
the joyous day at her mansion ; this proposition
Desmond seconded the more earnestly, that he
might enjoy the company of Lady Caroline, whose
beauty, and the slight conversation he had with
her, made such an inroad to his affections, as left
all chance of escape (if her mind appeared dis
posed to hold him captive) impossible. The con
tinual expressions of gratitude with which Marian
noticed the name of Desmond, and the amiable
character which Lady Dunboyne bestowed upon
him, added to his interesting appearance, made
the susceptible Caroline long for the return of her
mother, that she might again have the pleasure of
Desmond's company. In this wish she was grati
fied, for the whole party arrived, and Desmond,
without perceiving it, found himself seated beside
the fair object of his tenderest regards. This day,
passing amidst the most pleasurable sensations,
almost banished from the mind of Ponituski the
fate of his country, and nearly obliterated from
his memory the time —

When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern war*
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars —
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ;
Tumultuous horror brooded round her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man !

Not long after the introduction of the friends
to Lady Ellincourt, Digby received the hand of
the fair Marian, and proceeded with his beloved
bride, accompanied by her father, to Digby Hall,
in Northamptonshire.

Desmond continued a welcome visitor at Lady
Ellincourt's ; and; as the Watkins's had returned
to America, he had the more leisure to study the
character of Caroline, which he found to be all he
wished for. Making his proposals to the mother,

3(50 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

they were accepted, and Sir Christopher was in
troduced to Lady Caroline as a lover, counte
nanced by her respected and revered mother.
Well would it be if the selections made by parents
and the affections of children would accord, as
this did. Caroline loved him, and the passion was
equally ardent in the breast of Desmond. Sir
Christopher's mother arriving in company with
Lord and Lady Dunboyne, they urged the beau
teous Caroline to name an early day for the cele
bration of their nuptials. This Desmond himself
strove to accelerate by every device which love
could dictate. One day entering the library where
Lady Caroline was reading, he requested to see
the work which seemed so intensely to absorb her
thoughts; this she complied with — it was Camp
bell's delightful poem, "The Pleasures of Hope."
Desmond immediately pointed out the following
beautiful passage for her perusal ; —

Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh ! what were man ? — a world without a sun.
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's lovely bower !
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charmed the silent air;
In vain the wild bird caroll'd on the steep,
To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep ;
In vain, to sooth the solitary shade,
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd,
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; —
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray : —
The world was sad! — the garden was a wild!
And man, the hermit, sigh'd — 'till woman smiled !

Desmond was happy, his Caroline smiled ; and
ere maiden modesty could re-7: all the sweet tell
tale which played round her cherry lips, Sir Chris
topher clasped the sweet maid to his bosom; —
"to-rnorrow — to-morrow — my dear Caroline, let
the world resume its every charm — be mine, my
adored." " Well, then, to-morrow/' answered the
blushing dame, and, breaking fiom his fond

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3tH

embrace, flew and hid her crimsoned face in the
bosom of Lady Ellincourt.

Desmond was the more eager to have his nup
tials solemnized, as his presence was become ne
cessary in Ireland ; and his friend Digby being in
town, together with Count Ponituski and the
amiable Mrs. Digby, he wished to have them
present at the ceremony.

And now that day, to which so many look
forward as the gate of happiness — which so many
thoughtlessly enter — which so many, for merce
nary motives, eagerly hwk towards — arrived.
Desmond, on this, his wedding-day, solemnly
prostrated himself before his Maker, praying for
his guidance and direction in the new sphere of
life in which he was just going to move. Nor did
his Caroline neglect to offer up her devotions at
the tin-one of mercy, for grace to guide her in the
new situation she was entering upon. She was
that day to be united to the man she adored, but
she was to part from a mother she loved : a new
circle of acquaintances awaited her, and her chief
residence was to be in a distant country. The
ceremony over, they immediately proceeded for
Ireland ; and at intervals Sir Christopher and
Lady Desmond visited their friends in England.
That honor which marked his early youth en-
creased with his manhood ; as a husband — a
father— a friend— a master,— he was what those
who were so placed as to he acquainted with him
in any of these relative situations, would wish.
To the mansion of this gentleman Mr. Hamilton
and Lord Ellincourt directed their course, par
ticularly as it was iit the immediate neighhour-
hood of Ballufvn.

302

FATHERLESS FANNY ; ORr

CHAPTER XXXIX,

The Duel

WE will now return to Ballafyn castle, where
all was confusion, noise, and uproar, as soon as
Fanny was missed ; which was not until a late
hour 011 the ensuing morning, for as she had re
fused to admit either Rose or Mrs. Owen the
whole of the preceding day, they concluded
she was either sulky or asleep, and after finding
entreaties and threats equally unavailing, they
broke into her apartment, and to their astonish
ment, found it empty, without the smallest trace
being visible how Fanny had escaped ; the con
sternation was general, and mutual accusations
passed between Mrs. Owen and her niece Rose,
each believing, or affecting to believe, that the
other was privy to her disappearance. Rose, who
had a very feeling heart, and who had found her
self strongly inclined to love Fanny, was greatly
concerned on the occasion, and a thousand fears
least some private disposal had been made of the
poor young lady by her aunt, in concert with
Lord Ballafyn, alarmed her compassionate breast.
She was soon convinced, however, by the genuine

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 30*3

rage that burst forth from his lordship, on being
informed of Fanny's disappearance, that he was
not a party concerned in it. It was quite impos
sible to conjecture what could have become of
her, because her escape from the window was
totally impossible, unless aided by some abettor
without; and that she could not have made any
friend in that part of the world, was equally evi
dent, since she had never been permitted to quit
the house, even for a stroll in the park, unattended.

The most prevailing opinion now amongst the
servants was, that she had been carried away by
the supernatural agency of the banshee. The ex
istence of this ideal being is so firmly believed in
by the lower classes of the Irish peasantry, that to
doubt its reality would be considered a species of
scepticism deserving of punishment here, and sure
of it hereafter; and they began to look upon one
another with stitied horror, and wonder whose
turn would be the next.

Not so, Lord Ballafyn, superstition made no
part of his creed, he attributed the event to the
villainy of some of his servants, who had been
induced to connive at her escape, hy the facina-
Jion in her manner, which had so completely cap
tivated his lordship.

He therefore breathed nothing but vengeance,
and walked about the Castle, swearing that if
Fanny was not found within twelve hours, he
would shoot every person he suspected as her
accomplice.

In the midst of all this bustle, Col. Ross arrived;
he was surprised to h'nd his brother at the Castle
before him, as he had understood by his last let
ter that his lordship would be detained in Dublin
above a fortnight beyond the present period ; and
during that interval, he had hoped so to dispose
of Fanny as tohavesecured herpossessionen^rely
to himself; jealousy was roused, therefore, when

3(54 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

lie found his brother already at the Castle, and
rage was adde(] to that feeling-, when heheard that
she was no where to he found. In the first pa
roxysm oi Passion, the two brothers began abusing
each other jn tne most violent manner. Col. Ross
did not hesitate to accuse Lord Ballafyn with hav
ing secrete^ fanny on purpose to deprive him of
her, adding that the well-known infamy of his
brother s character, might have warned him notto
trust so practised a villain with a treasure of such
inestimable value. And thus, reader, it is ever
with the sons of vice, however firmly their friend
ship may seem united— -however near they mav

111*1 V m

be allied-— however their pursuits may appear to
cement them— yet to such a height, do they carry
their selfishness that every circumstance which
should be a bond of union among them, vanishes
whenever one profligate companion counteracts
the design of his fellow, thus was it between those
brothers. Equally guilly, they began to recri
minate each other, and the most vile language
seemed inadequate to express the feelings of their
diabolical minds.

Lord Ballafyn was an Irishman in every thing
but honor, but there he belied his country. His
spirit was too turbulent and haughty to brook the
aggravating expressions made use of by his bro
ther, and bidding him defiance, he seized his pis
tols, and ordered him to follow him to the planta
tion at a little distance from the house. Col. Ross,
whose whole frame shook with a fury nowise infe
rior to that which transported his brother, obeyed
the mandate, and in a few minutes the wretched
culprits had sealed their condemnation in each
other's blood, and the crime of Cain was renewed
by the mutual fraticides. Both fired, and both
fell, whilst the sanguine stream dyed the conscious
earth, and smoking up to Heaven, called down
tenfold vengeance on the murderer.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 365

»

But let us turn from the horrid scene, and visit
"Fanny in her calm retreat; let us behold her
seated at her mother's feet, whose emaciated hand
was fast locked between the soft pressure of her
daughter's, and as with filial love, amounting to
veneration, she gazes on the care-worn features of
the angelic sufferer, we may see the large pearly
drops of tenderest sympathy roll down her lovely
cheek.

Her mother was told the sad tale of her suffer
ings already related to the reader, with this only
addition, that when, after Mr. Hamilton's visit to
Ballafyn Castle had excited the jealous rage of its
imperious owner, the treatment of the wretched
Lady Ballafyn had been beyond measure intoler
able, and she had the most urgent reasons to be
lieve that her death was intended by her remorse
less Lord.

The intervention of honest Dermot had pre
vented the catastrophe, and the unhappy lady had
found a safe and comfortable asylum with the
benevolent nuns ; who, though differing from her
in some points of religion, had never varied in
their attentions to her comforts, nor denied their
sympathy to her sufferings.

In her turn, Fanny had related the eventful
narrative of her life, and the wonderful discovery
of her parents, which had been made to h<?r by
Mr. Hamilton. But, Heavens ! what were Lady
Ballafyn* s emotions, when she heard that he, for
whose sake she had suffered so severely, still ex
isted- ! A wildness took possession of the unfor
tunate lady, that greatly alarmed Fanny; but the
tender blandishments of her daughter gradually
restored her to peace, and she made her repeat,
over and over again, those parts of the story most
interesting to her heart. To find that Fanny had
been introduced to her cousin, Lord Ellincourt,
in so wonderful a manner, and afterwards so kind iy

16 3A

360 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

adopted both by his Lordship and his mother,
called forth the tear of gratitude and joy upon
the cheek of the interesting mother.

Whilst the mother and daughter were engaged
in this tender discourse, they were interrupted by
the arrival of the Duke of Albemarle. He was
admitted to their presence, and began apologizing
for his late visit ; but so sweetly had their time
stole away, in the interesting communications they
had been mutually making, that they had riot
perceived the lapse of time. Fanny immed iately
begged leave to introduce her mother to the Duke,
who received the information with a look of sur
prise amounting almost to incredulity.

" I bring you hews," said he, " that will sur
prise you almost as much as you have done me,
some of your best friends are arrived in search of
you : I have this moment spoken to Lord Ellin-
court, who tells me he was accompanied by Mr.
Hamilton."

" Oh, Heavens, my Father!" exclaimed Fanny,
" let me fly and embrace him." But, as she spoke,
she turned, and saw her mother pale and faint.
Every other feeling now gave way to terror for
that dear parent's safety; nor would she say an
other word to the Duke until she had seen her
perfectly restored, and persuaded her to retire to
her bed to compose her shattered nerves, where
she left her in the care of one of the benevolent
nuns, whilst she went to learn the particulars of
the joyful news just announced to her.

" May T not fly to my dear father?" said the
affectionate Fanny, when she returned to the
Duke.

" No, lovely girl," replied his Grace, " your
father will be here very shortly, Sir Christopher
Desmond, Lord Ellincourt, and several gentle
men of the neighbourhood with him ; they are
at present engaged in a very melancholy oflice,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT 371

seek pleasure in the gratification of every sensual
.desire- — who despise the honest and the honorable
— in whose eyes the religious are hypocrites — the
generous vain — the benevolent ostentatious; pur
sue your evil courses — rise from one degree of vice
to another — attain its very climax — yet, let brit
death lay his cold hand upon you, and all your
boasted hardihood vanishes. The soul, horror
struck, dreads to leave its tenement of clay, and
hell commences here, 'ere spirit and body part.

1 will not pretend to describe the meeting be
tween Mr. Hamilton and his long-lost Emily, for
it is impossible for any pen to do justice to such
high- wrought feelings as filled the breasts of the
long-severed lovers. The presence of their child
encreased their joy, and the excess of their hap
piness seemed to threaten to be more fatal to their
health tlran even their long sufferings had been, for
both of them fell ill in consequence of the violent
effect, so wonderful a revolution had taken upon
their frail constitutions.

At length, however, they recovered, and the
happy party removed to .Sir Christopher Des
mond's, where they spent a few weeks of uninter
rupted felicity, after which the whole party, with
the exception of the injured Emily, returned to
England, in order to make the proper investigation
of Lord Smnertown's conduct, and to prove the.
marriage his infamous plots had annulled, and on
which proof depended the legitimacy of Fanny's
birth-right. Emily, who had now dropped the
title of Lady Ballafyn, insisted upon remaining at
the hospitable convent until every thing should
be settled respecting the validity of her marriage,
and refused, with determined steadiness, the en
treaties of her daughter to permit her to remain;
with her.

" ,\o, my child/' said she, " return to the
amiable Lady, your near and dear relative,, who

372 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

so kindly fostered you when she thought you a
stranger and an outcast; go to her, and bear the
rich oblations of gratitude and affection, from a
heart that has been long dead to this world, but
which now once more palpitates with the best
feelings of humanity, and tell her I yet cherish
the fond hope of being folded to her maternal
bosom. I have no doubt of the success of your
noble-minded father's exertions in our behalf, they
will be crowned with success, and my darling girl
will be presented to the world with the splendour
that so justly belongs to her. But never lose sight
of this maxim, my child, when pleasure courts
you, and adulation whispers in your ear, those
praises that are ever bestowed upon the rich and
noble: — Virtue is the only true distinction, and he
that acts up to her dictates can never be base, how
mean soever his situation in life ; nor can the
slave of vice be noble, though invested with the
trappings of royalty itself.

Before the party set off for England, especial
care was taken by Fanny that the family of honest
Dermot should be rewarded for their exertions in
her behalf. She found herself forestalled, however,
in her kind intention by the generous Albemarle,
who, impatient to reward the humble benefactors
of the woman he adored, had purchased a piece
of land for them, adjoining their cottage, which
was sufficient, with a little industry to maintain
them all comfortably ; to this gift Fanny added a
sum of money bestowed upon her by her father,
to enable them to build a comfortable cabin in
lieu of the wretched one they now inhabited.

There was nothing could equal the happiness of
this honest family, excepting their gratitude ; both
these feelings were without bounds, and they fol
lowed their benefactors with blessings, until they
reached the port where they were to embark, and
knelt down upon the beach, with all the enthufti-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 373

asm that marks their countrymen, to pray for a
good voyage for the travellers. The humble peti
tion was heard at the throne of grace, and Fanny,
accompanied by her father, Lord Ellincoui t, and
the Duke of Albemarle, arrived in safety at Pem-
bertOD Abbey, in three days from their departure
from Donaghadee. Lady Dowager Ellincourt
and her daughter-in-law, the amiable Emily, were
waiting to receive them, and Fanny was pressed
alternately in their arms with all the fervour of
affectionate joy.

The happy termination of all their sorrows had
been announced to them by letter, andPemberton
Abbey was appointed the place of rendezvous.
Poor Lady Mary Ross was still an inhabitant of
that mansion, but grief and anxiety had preyed
so severely upon her gentle mind, that she was
confined by severe illness to her bed, and thereby
rendered incapable of flying to the pillow of her
suffering and now deeply penitent husband, Col.
Ross, who still lay with very slender hopes of
recovery at the dreary Castle of Ballafyn, and
who expressed the most earnest wish to see his
injured wife.

Amongst the happy groupe assembled at Pem-
berton Abbey, we must not forget Mrs. Bolton,
who had never quitted Lady Ellincourt during the
dreadful suspense she had been suffering whilst
Fanny was missing.

Mr. Hamilton took every step to trace the
wicked and treacherous Frankly n, who had so
basely betrayed his helpless daughter into the
hands of her enemies for the consideration of five
hundred pounds, which was paid him by the de
testable Lord Somertown. The wretch, however,
eluded their vigilance for the present; for, as soon
as he found his wife had betrayed him, he made
•ff to Portsmouth, and entering on board a ship

16. 3 B

374 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

just sailing for the West Indies, he escaped the
pursuit.

In consideration of Mrs.Franklyn's tenderness
to Fanny, and her subsequent discovery of the
plot to the Duke, she was pardoned, and received
a small annuity from the bounty of the Duke.

In short that young nobleman behaved with
such generosity, and displayed so noble a spirit
throughout the whole of this business, that Mr.
Hamilton and Lord Ellincourt joined their elo
quence to that of the two Ladies Ellincourt, to
persuade Fanny to accept his offered hand.

It was difficult to resist such special pleaders,
particularly as she felt a still more powerful advo
cate for his cause in her own bosom.

Fanny therefore yielded to the persuasions of
her friends, and gave a conditional promise to
marry the Duke, provided her mother approved
of the match.

The Duke was all love, gratitude, and rapture;
and, in consideration of this arrangement, it was
agreed that Mr. Hamilton should drop his claim
to the Albemarle title, and suffer the two claims
to be united in the persons of the two lovers.

It was now absolutely necessary to break up
the happy party, and that the gentlemen should
go to London ; but the ladies remained with Lady
Maria, who now began to recover her strength,
and promised herself the consolation of visiting
her poor husband, now Lord Ballafyn, in hi*
mournful confinement.

It had been proved, on the inquest that had
been taken at the time of Lord Ballafyn's death,
that he w as the aggressor ; Colonel Ross's life was
not therefore endangered by any thing but by his
wounds, which still continued very unfavorable
in their appearance, owing to the harassed state
of his mind, which was now a chaos of remorse,
terror, and contrition.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT 375

The presence of his lady, who flew to his as
sistance as soon as her health permitted her, re
stored him to some degree of composure ; for her
.gentle nature induced her to pronounce the most
unequivocal pardon on the penitent sinner, as far
as she was concerned.

Mr. Hamilton soon settled his business in town ;
the validity of his marriage was proved, beyond a
.doubt by the assistance of Mr. Fortescue, who
had the satisfaction of receiving his favorite mo-
as the meed of his testimony.

In regard to Lord Somertown, all proceedings
against him were become unnecessary ; Heaven
iiad anticipated the punishment designed him, and
visited him with a total privation of his mental
faculties. He lived but a short time after Mr.
Hamilton's return, and died at last despised and
detested, leaving his name covered with the infamy
of his long-concealed actions, which now became
known to the world, filling it at once with horror
and detestation, for the monster which had so long
encumbered the earth.

Lord Ellincourt and Mr. Hamilton set off for
Ireland as soon as the business was settled, to
fetch the amiable and long-suffering Emily ; arid
soon after her return the nuptials of her beloved
daughter were to be solemnized with the Duke
of Albemarle.

Lady Mornington wrote her congratulations to
Fanny, on the joyful occasion, in her usual gay
strain; part of the letter ran thus : —

" It mortifies me that I cannot fly to you, and
present my congratulations in person ; but I will
take my revenge as soon as I can, and then you
will have a hard matter to get rid of me. I hope
the Duke did not make such a long face at your
wedding as he did at mine. I long to see him in
the character of a benedict.

" Apropos, I am very angry that your balled

376 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

so far surpasses mine in romantic incident ; I was
thinking of turning my story into a romance, but
it will not do now. Your's has, besides an enleve-
metit, castles, enchanted rocks, disguised knights-
errant, and subterraneous caverns, and heaven
knows what.

" But I think the best of your story is the death
of Bluebeard; you know who I mean. The old
Giant of Grumbo is dead too, so farewell to ad
ventures. I am afraid you will be obliged to go
soberly on all the days of your life, without the
smallest chance of your being run away with any
more.

" How I long to embrace all the dear circle !
Yes, you may look, but I assure you I intend to
salute the Duke for his pretty chivalric expedition
in search of an oppressed damsel.

" I think he had been reading Ariosto before
he set out, he went about giant-killing so handily.
Farewell : your happiness must be incomplete
you want the society of your mad friend,

AMELIA MORNINGTON."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 377

CHAPTER XL.

The Marriage,

IT only now remains for me to add, the
happy party soon after arrived in England, and
Fanny had onee more to experience the delightful
sensations of pressing to her bosom her earliest
friend, and of receiving the affectionate and joyful
embrace of her revered benefactress, Lady Ellin-
court, who, as she gazed on the finely expressive
countenance of her beloved niece, could not help
exclaiming, " It is, indeed, the child of my ill-
fated, my noble brother ! and I never shall suffi
ciently accuse myself of stupid insensibility for
not immediately discovering in thatface his ' every
feature more elegantly touched.' '

The Duke now waited impatiently the arrival
of Sir Everard and Lady Mornington, who had
altered her determination, and had written to
Fanny to say, she should expire if she was not
present at her marriage, as she understood it had
not yet taken place.

In the morning the lively Amelia arrived, and
Fanny had now under the same roof every friend

376 FATHERLESS FANNY; OjR,

she loved, and the marriage shortly after took
place between the Duke and the amiable girl.
The grand saloon of Lady Ellincourt's house was
fitted up for the performance of the ceremony, and
as his Grace approached the blushing girl, Lady
Mornington congratulated him with her usual
•prightlmess on the improvement of his appear
ance, which, she declared, had lately undergone a
most wonderful change for the better; for at her
marriage he performed the " knight of the rueful
countenance" with such considerable eclat, that
she really imagined his future intentions were to
fight giants, and rescue persecuted damsels from
enchanted castles: "but, "continued her lady ship,
laughing, "I am highly delighted at your sagacious
selection of the damsel you were to emerge from
dreary confinement; and here, I am led to believe^
ends your Grace's exploits in chivalry."

The Duke acknowledged her ladyship's opinion
was perfectly correct; and, bowing with an air of
gallantry, assured her, her lively sallies now de
lighted him.

" Did you ever hear the like !" exclaimed the
Jively Amelia, turning to Fanny; " what a mortify
ing confession, it is a tacit intimation, that 1 did
not always delight; but, however, 1 really possess
so swreet a disposition that itinduces me to forgive
you ; for I know, on a day like this, happiness
intoxicates, and may make you rind impurity in
the drifted snow, spots in the sun, or faults in the
amiable Lady Morningtou."

Fanny could not forbear a smile at the agree
able gaiety of her friend, although she never fety
'tnore disposed to be serious.

Mr. Hamilton nowr approached, and taking the
hand of his daughter, moved towards the apart
ment destined for the performance of the sacred
.ceremony : the Duke received her from the hands
of her father as heaven's best gift, and led her t«

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 579

the altar, where the bishop of L stood ready

to unite them for ever.

Fanny supported herself with a placid dignity,
and firmly answered the solemn impressive ques
tions addressed to her by the bishop ; the cere
mony now concluded, and she gracefully received
the congratulations of the party, and kissing her
hand, as farewell, was lead to the carriage in wait
ing, by the enraptured Duke, and they immediately
«et off to Albemarle Park. Lord and Lady Ellin-
court, Lady Mornington, &c. were to follow in
two days.

A month soon elapsed, and the happy party re
turned to town in order to be introduced at court;
it was agreed that the three brides, Lady Ellin-
eourt, Lady Mornington, and our heroine, should
be presented the same day ; and now all was bustle
and confusion; nothing but milliners, dressmakers,
&c. crowding the hall: at length the important
day arrived, and never was a more brilliant and
crowded drawing-room than that which graced
the introduction of the youthful, elegant and
blooming Dnchess of Albemarle to the tirst court
in Europe; the three ladies were attired alike in
Brussels lace falling over white satin, with a profu
sion of diamonds; feathers and diamonds adorned
their heads; the only difference was, that a ducal
coronet of dhimondsencircledthefairopenforehead
of Fanny ; a buz of astonishment followed their
entrance into the anti- chamber, and though the
gentlemen allowed the Ladies Ellincourt and
Mornington to be fine women, ^w/thattheDuchess
was the superlative degree, was voted nem. con.

Her Majesty received her with infinite conde
scension, and honored her with particular atten
tion, intimating her hopes of frequently seeing her
Grace of Albomarle adorn, by her presence, the
circle of the drawing-room ; bending with a grace
ful dignity peculiar to herself, she acknowledged

380 fATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

with gratitude how much she felt the honor con
ferred by the condescension of her sovereign, and
after a few minutes conversation she prepared to
quit the presence : a murmur of admiration fol
lowed the departure of the fascinating Duchess,
who the gentlemen again declared would be the
prevailing toast for at least three winters.

" How d'ye do." " Charmingly warm," "De
lightful squeeze," were addressed to her by so
many strangers, who evidently wished to be
strangers no longer, that it was with difficulty a
passage was opened for the party to pass, so eager
were the fashionable world now to attract the
notice and obtain an introduction to the lately
slig/ited, forlorn— FATHERLESS FANNY ! ! !
Who now no longer an orphan,, and the object of
impertinent curiosity, in the gay world that she
frequented, but the beloved daughter of Mr. and
Mrs. Hamilton; the wife of one of the first nobles
in the kingdom ; and the radiant star wherever
she appeared. Yet amongst the praises that were
deservedly lavished upon her from every quarter,
and the homage that was almost bestowed upon
her beauty, by some gentlemen who perhaps held
her personal charms in higher estimation than the
brilliancy of her understanding, and the intrinsic
qualities af her heart; she still maintained the
same unassuming deportment, the same mild,
gentle demeanour.

Though compelled, by the station to which she
was raised, to mingle amongst the fashionable
throng, she despised the glittering vanities she be
held, and never feltso truly blestas when enjoying
the society of her husband, and a party of select
friends at their beloved retirement in Hampshire.
Thither they had spent the honey-moon, and on
those seaons when Parliamentary business did not
require the presence of the Duke in London, they
delighted to sojourn. Pemberton Abbey has alse

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 367

that of giving orders for the proper attendance on
two unfortunate men, who, forgetful of their duty
to God and themselves, have been engaged in a
duel."

Tiie Duke then briefly related the particulars
of Lord Ballafyn's and Colonel Ross's quarrel
and its fatal termination.

" They are both wounded desperately," said
he, " but not dead. Mr. Hamilton and Lord
Ellincourt arrived at the Castle at the precise mo
ment when the wretched men were being carried
into it. I had been attracted to the fatal spot by
the report of fire-arms, and came up to the com
batants just as they both fell.

" I hastily summoned assistance from the Cas
tle, and the wounded brothers were conveyed
thither by the terrified servants, who at first eyed
me with a suspicious look, imagining that I had
had a hand in the fatal catastrophe. The inco
herent sentences uttered by Lord Ballafyn soon
convinced them of their mistake; for although
he spoke with difficulty, he said enough to ex
culpate me.

" The arrival of Lord Ellincourt and Mr. Ha
milton, at such a moment increased the confusion;
for the former, with the impetuosity natural to his
character, began a string of questions relating to
you, my sweet friend, which it was impossible the
servants could answer satisfactorily ; and learning
that you had been at the Castle, and were now
missing, made him outrageous.

" To calm his rising passion I advanced towards
him, for I had entered the hall with the throng of
domestics, and as I knew more about you than
any one there, I thought it my duty to relieve his
anxiety ; but I had nearly got into a scrape with
the choleric Lord, for he immediately suspected
me of being concermvl in the barbarous violence
of taking you from England.

36*8 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

" Mr. Hamilton's calmness was here of great
service to us ; and the explanation was at length
made in a satisfactory mariner, and his Lordship's
resentment changed into the most enthusiastic
gratitude.

" I explained to him the manner in which I had
been deceived by Lord Somertown's pretended
permission to pay my addresses to you, which was
only given me to add mortification to disappoint
ment, for he well knew you were to be removed
from Pemberton Abbey before I could arrive
there.

" By the fortunate circumstance of my meeting
with the woman whose husband acted as chief
manager of the infernal plot, I became master of
the important secret that so nearly concerned my
happiness. She mistook me for Lord Ellin court,
whose arrival was hourly expected, and enjoining
me secrecy as to the source from whence I drew
my information, she entreated me to lose no time
in flying to your assistance. She directed me the
exact route you had taken, and she described
your terror and distress during the part of your
journey she had accompanied you in, with a de
gree of sympathy that will ever make me remem
ber Mrs. Franklyn with pleasure. I crossed by
the same vessel that had taken you over, and
learned at the cabin of poor Dermot the rest of
the particulars necessary for your deliverance.

" I determined to effect that first, with the as
sistance of that honest fellow, and then call the
infamous author of your imprisonment to the ac
count his crimes merited; but another hand has
chastised him, and I am satisfied.

" A surgeon had arrived at the Castle before I
came away, and he pronounces the wounds of
both the unprincipled brothers very dangerous,
but Lord Ballafyn's the most so. His Lordship
Jias been made acquainted with his danger, and

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 369

remorse has visited his heart ; he has desired to
see Lord Ellincourt, hut, as the surgeon said any
violent emotion might be instantly fatal, the inter
view has not yet taken place. His Lordship does
not know that Mr. Hamilton is in existence, at
least he dreams not that his house now holds the
man whom he has so irreparably injured.

" Concealment is now no longer necessary,"
added the Duke, " your enemies are incapable of
further injuring you, and indeed if they were not
so, you are surrounded with a posse of friends
able to defend you from their malice : it is there
fore proposed, that you should be removed to
Lord Ellincourt's sister, Lady Caroline, who has
been prepared to expect you ; she lives at no great
distance from hence, and Lord Ellincourt, Mr.
Hamilton, and Sir Christopher mean to come pre
pared to escort you there."

" But I have found a parent here," said Fanny,
" a parent that they have no idea is in existence,
and I cannot so soon consent to tear myself away
from her; and I am persuaded she will never quit
these walls whilst Lord Ballafyn lives."

" That may not be long," replied the Duke,
" for the surgeon gives but very poor hopes of his
recovery. But 1 mean not to dictate to yon madam:
Mr. Hamilton and his fiiends are coming, and then
my mission ends. O may that gentle bosom deign
to bestow some compassion on the man who exists
but in the hope of being one day dear to you !"

" I entreat your Grace never to mention that
subject to me again," said Fanny; "your addresses
are unsanctioned by your uncle, nay, against his
consent, and cannot therefore, be received by me."

" Of my uncle I beseech you never to think
again," said the Duke ; " he has for ever broken
the link that held me to him ; the insult he has
offered me, by pretending to give his consent to a
marriage which he believed at the moment could

370 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

never take place, lias determined me to renounce
him, and 1 have written to him expressive of my
resolution. I told him in that letter that I would
never rest until I found you, and wherever I did
find you, and in whatsoever circumstances you
might be placed, 1 would lay my fortune at your
feet, and consider your acceptance of it as the
only thing which could give it value in my eyes.
That moment is now arrived, and 1 throw myself
on your mercy, and expect the sentence of life or
death from your hands.

Before Fanny had time to reply, Mr. Hamilton,
and Lord Ellincourt arrived, and the scene that
followed put all ideas of lovers out of Fanny's
head.

The discovery of Lady Ballafyn's existence was
asurprise so sudden and unexpected, that it nearly
overturned Mr. Hamilton's faculties, and he was
some hours before he had sufficiently recovered
the shock to converse with any degree of self-
collectedness upon the subject. The manner of
introducing himself to her presence became the
next consideration, and it was agreed that the
interview should be deferred for a few days, as
during that period perhaps Lord Ballafyn might
pay the forfeit of his crimes. The event justified
the supposition, for the unhappy nobleman
breathed his last just eight and forty hours after
the duel, in the most excruciating tortures both
of mind and body.

Mr. Hamilton visited him to pronounce for
giveness for the injuries he had sustained from
the dying sinner, but alas, the sight of him threw
Lord Ballafyn into a delirium that ended in his
dissolution; and thus the wretched sufferer was
deprived of the consolation the Christian charity
of the godlike Hamilton had intended to bestow
upon him.

Oh, sons of vice, children of folly — you who

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 381

a favorite residence Memory had first endeared
it to our heroine : she was enraptured with its
venerable shades, 'ere time acquainted her that it
was there she drew her first breath. Within the
walls of the chosen structure her suffering mother
gave her existence ; and nature, pure but power
ful nature, dictated a preference for the sublime
retreat. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton took up their
abode there : it was sufficiently large both for the
family of the Ell incourts and them to hold pos
session. The Dowager Lady Ellincourt, as also
her daughter, became tenderly attached to the
mother of their sweet Fanny, and it was the mu
tual wish of all parties that one roof should con
tain them. Lord Ellincourt was the best of hus
bands: he loved the amiable Emily wkh an affec
tion, that virtues bright as her's could not fail to
excite in a breast replete with such transcendant
goodness ; and the afflictions which the mother of
her,whom he had been wont to call his little Fan, had
undergone, whilst bearing the hated title of Lady
Ballafyn, raised the tear of sympathy in his sus
ceptible bosom : his character is already known ;
it would be needless here to expatiate on his merits^
but we shall have many opportunities of dis
playing his generosity as we go on. The Duke
of Albemarle was a model for his sex to follow ;
he was a stranger to the ways of dissipation. Till
he was so inexpressibly happy, as to become the
accidental means of saving his adored from the
fall she would have otherwise sustained, the pas
sion of Love was a guest with whom he was un
acquainted. The fascinations of the fair had never
possessed power to alter the happy system of his
disposition ; the name of seduction was odious
to his ear, and when he heard of plans laid to
betray defenceless innocence, he invariably ex
pressed himself with detestation towards their
perpetrators.

No. 17. 3 c

382 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

This feeling was doubly riveted in his soul after
he had seen the peerless maid on whom he fixed
his heart ; he resolved to unite his hand honor
ably with hers, and by so doing, prove the extent
of the adoration she had inspired. There could
not be a stronger evidence of the sincerity of his
regard, than the fervency with which he paid his
addresses, before he was informed of the secret
of her birth ; it was her mind and her angelic per
son that he courted, not her fortune or her rank.

His Grace had early learnt to penetrate the
thick evil of dissimulation worn by his dissolute
companions; and his native good sense, instructed
him to despise the arts they adopted to accomplish
their designs. His friend, Lord Ellincourt, was
not quite so deep a philosopher : before his mar
riage with the enchanting Emily, his principles
were not so strict as they should have been ; yet
never did he devise projects for the destruction of
virtue. After the union of Lord Ellincourt with
the attracting Miss Barlowe, his thoughts never
centered for a moment in any other woman ; he
considered her the mirror of female excellence, and
began to view with utter contempt the life he had
led, till introduced by Providence to her society.
One day, when holding a conversation with the
Duke of Albemarle on this subject, he thus ex
pressed himself — " Oh, how blest is the condition
of matrimony ; I need not describe to your Grace
the delights that it produces, as you are yourself
so well acquainted with them ; but had mortals
an insight into half the joys that heavenly state
unfolds, how few would pass their days in a routine
of nothingness, enter into criminal engagements
with the most worthless of the sex, ancf disdain
the possession of one deserving fair, whose perfec
tions reach beyond a captivating exterior, and
whose beauties are of such a nature as will last to
the end of time." " Would that your observation

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 333

was just, my dear fellow," replied the Duke, " but
1 am very much afraid, from the manners of the
beau mondcj that sentiments such as yours, and
such as I trust are mine, are nearly obsolete ; no
thing seems to afford pleasure in this luxurious
age, but extravagance and intrigue : morality is
discarded from the assemblies of the great, and
voluptuousness takes the lead in place of sober
reflection. As to love, it appears to be banished
from the breasts of the masculine gender: in women
that sensation is more predominant than ever; but
we only affect to love, whereas in them there is no
deceit- — they yield to us all that can make them
valuable, and we in return hate them for consenting
to our desires. Marriage, that presents to us a
prospect so agreeaJble, is treated with derision by
the rakes of London : oft am I compelled to listen
to the abominable discourses of these modern hell
hounds, and numberless are the disputes into which
I have been drawn for persisting in maintaining
my own opinions, which I. glory in acknowledging,
they are widely opposite from those asserted by
the profane wretches in question."

" It is indeed a cause of concern," answered
Lord Ellincourt, " that vice should dwell so wholly
in our depraved race, as to render us insensible to
the solid charms of virtue. I was once indifferent
to her pursuit, though 1 never viewed her with an
eye of ridicule, or spoke of her in language of con
tempt : but since the wise goodness of the eternal
has thought fit to bestow upon me the divinest of
treasures, in granting me the hand of my ever dear
Emily, I am awakened to a perfect consciousness
of the guilt of searching for happiness in licentious
and forbidden joys. You have frequently heard
me observe, and 1 again repeat it, that the first
memorable action of my life was done without any
previous design to perform one. I was anxious
for the restoration of a faithful little animal, and

384 FATHERLEHS FANNY ; OR,

in my efforts to recover that, I was the means o/
rendering a service to the charming creature who
is now your wife. This event gave a turn to my
imagination, and from that momentthe illuminating
beams of knowledge seemed to irradiate my intel
lects, and inspire me with higher perceptions than
I had before been endued with : my conscience
approved of the deed, and your Grace will allow,
that conscience is a never-failing director, if we
•would attend to her dictates." "I have ever found
it such," replied the Duke, " and my ideas on
marriage coincide exactly with your own. Fanny
is all the fondest husband could desire, and more
than any man expects to find in woman." " I
prophesied what an angel she would be," said
Lord Ellincourt, " when I saw her a little cherub
of five years old at that gypsied hag's, Miss Bride
well's ; her countenance denoted something more
than ordinary at that early age."

" I suppose that lady will be Miss to all eter
nity," replied the Duke.

" 1 am sureshe would be beyond eternity for me/'
cried the sarcastic Lord; " if there was not another
female between here and the coast of Negroland,
I would not deprive her of that appellation. She
would stand as secure from an invasion as the in
fernal furies, styled Alecto, Tisiphone, and Ma-
ga3ror. Who'd marry a woman that is old, ugly,
proud, bad-tempered, puffed up with self-conceit,
vain without the shadow of a pretence for being
so ? Bless me, my Lord, were I to write down a
sum total of all the odious qualities that belong to
the blooming virgin of fifty-five, it would certainly
occupy two months to peruse them, and that
merely an abridgement ; if I were to revise them
systematically, in the manner of the Cyclopedia,
it would be nearer two years." The Duke could
not help smiling at this lengthened harangue on
the demerits of the unamiable Miss Bridewell,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 385

who be knew had never been a 'favourite with his
friend. " On my word," said he, " you seem to
have summed her up in a very few minutes — I know
not whether your calculation is just." " Why,
could yot*love such a piece of stiff formality?"
humorously asked his Lordship. " Love," an
swered he, in the same jocular strain, " no, I could
as soon love an inanimate statue : I should expect
no warmth there, and if I expected it in her, I
should doubtless be disappointed." " 1 acknow
ledge," said Lord Ellincourt, u that I ought not
to be so inveterate, considering that my going to
the beldam's, first introduced me to the sweet
Fanny — that should soften my rugged heart in her
favor ; but then, when 1 think of her behaviour to
wards that innocent, 1 am doubly enraged, since she
proved her views of interest in every particular."
The conversation here turned. Lord Ellincourt
inquired, " if his Grace had seen Sir Everard Morn-
ington recently." " Not very," he answered; "we
expect him and his lively lady shortly, to pass a
few weeks at our seat in Hampshire." " They
promise to be a happy couple," said his Lordship.
" 1 have no doubt but they will," replied the Duke;
" they are equally matched, and both full of rattle,
as it is called : he is a keen sportsman, and I un
derstand she attends him in his hunting and shoot
ing expeditions." " Ah, they will be tired of that
way of life by-and-by," rejoined Lord Ellincourt,
" and glad to act more like rational creatures."
" Very possible," returned the Duke, " but I think
that period will not arrive till they have seen every
thing that is to be seen in London, and then may
hap, completely fatigued with such an endless
round of diversions, they will seek for felicity in
sequestered glades and rural bowers."

This discourse was held at Pemberton Abbey,
where the Duke and Duchess were on a visit ;
they had been married two months, but were still

386 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

overwhelmed with compliments on the blissful
occasion. The lovely Fanny, though tenderly at
tached to the Ellincourts, had yet another reason
for wishing to spend much of her time there ; it
was the residence of her parents — those parents,
whom till lately she had never seen — whose sorrows
she had been unacquainted with — of whose exist
ence she had even entertained a doubt ; now that
their identity was ascertained, and they were re
stored to happiness and each other, it was natural
she should desire to participate in the delightful
emotions they mutually experienced ; and her
affection for them doubly endeared her to the
Duke, as he read her future conduct as a wife, in
her present, as a daughter. A child that is wanting
in love and duty to her parents, will never be
worth the acceptance of any man ; she has broken
the first law of nature, and there is little reason to
suppose that she will act her part better in the sa
cred state of matrimony: duty may here however
be termed an improper expression, as our heroine
had been estranged from those revered relatives
till at an age when their guidance was unnecessary;
but she had still consulted their will, and received
their permission to yield herself in marriage, or
even the Duke of Albemarle would have been re
jected; and the exquisite feelings of gratitude and
joy which she manifested at their deliverance from
affliction, and entrance into bliss, plainly shewed
her respect and reverence for them. She found a
melancholy satisfaction in conversing with her
mother on the calamities that had befallen the
latter, and rejoicing at their termination ; the death
of Lord Ballafyn was a source of ecstasy, as had
he survived, he might still have laboured to de
stroy the peace of the amiable Mrs. Hamilton.
Nor could she lament that of Lord Somertown,
his character was so despicable, and his hatred of
her so obvious, that it would have been affectation

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 387

to pretend it ; she nevertheless returned thanks
to Heaven that they had died penitent for their
crimes, as that was the only atonement they could
make foi their offences. Colonel Ross, now Lord
Ballafyn, had entirely recovered from the effects
of his wounds, and I wish I could add, that they
had produced that reformation in his principles,
which had been hoped and expected from his
sufferings, and the contrition that was then evident
in his heart ; but as soon as he he was declared out
of all danger, he again rushed into dissipation, and
neglected the gentle Lady Maria, who loved him,
notwithstanding his baseness, with an unceasing
affection ; though his hand had sent his wretched
guilty brother to the tomb, the remembrance of
that was not sufficiently painful to deter him from
the commission of those vices which had already
proved but too fatal to him ; he however acquired
additional dissimulation with an additional share
of wickedness. He still wore the mask of sorrow,
and when his increased coolness was observed by
his unhappy wife, he attributed it to the despon
dent grief of his mind, and entreated her to believe
that she was dearer to him than ever. " But this
despondency is wrong, my beloved husband,"
cried the amiable Maria, <e we can but repent of
having erred. Your repentance is sincere, and
why will you not place confidence in the mercies
of the Redeemer. He knows the inmost secrets
of the soul, and he pities our transgressions." Ah!
mistaken fair, this language was lost upon him to
whom it was uttered ; he thought not of a Re
deemer, or his mercies : at these periods he gene
rally put his handkerchief to his face, as if to
wipe a starting tear, but in reality, to smile at the
credulity of his Lady.

To return to our heroine and her now truly
happy parents. Duringthe time of her continuance
at. Pemberton Abbey, many and melting were the

388 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

scenes between Mrs. Hamilton and the dowager
Lady Ellincourt ; whilst she contemplated her
beautiful face, she beheld the very features of the
murdered Durham. " O my sainted brother !"
she exclaimed, " do I indeed press to my bosom
the child of my departed Emily — her whose spirit
has mingled with thine, whose habitation is with
the just; dear image of thy sweet mother and la
mented father, how lately did I believe thee num
bered with the dead, deprived perhaps, by the
cruelty of Lord Ballafyn, of life, and sent to join
thy parents up on high — but thou art spared, and
that fiend has paid the forfeit of his crimes."
With streaming eyes, Mrs. Hamilton embraced her
aunt, and eagerly participated in the blissful emo
tions she experienced. The mention of the suffer
ings which the authors of her being had sustained,

• • i • • i

were distracting to her imagination; but when
she reflected on the state of supreme felicity to
which there could be no doubt tney had at length
attained, she felt the vivifying rays of consolation
inspire her with its ardent flame ; restored to her
adored husband, and beloved daughter, her joy
.was greater than it can be possible for any mortal
to conceive.

CHAPTER XL.

Tete-a-tete, and Epistolary Correspondence.

" WHAT is the lead ing subject of your thoughts,
my dear Emily ?" said the Duchess of Albe-
marle to Lady Ellincourt, who sat in a musing
posture, viewing the countenance of our he-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

roine with attention. " Is it your wish that 1
should tell you," answered Emily, her features
assuming her accustomed playful smile. "It
would oblige me," returned her Grace. " Why
then," said ner Ladyship, "I was thinking of the
horror and astonishment that was depicted in every
face, this day ten years, when we were at Myrtle
Grove, and our very honorable governess, after
her interview with Lord Ellincourt, entered the
room, exclaiming, with rueful looks, that she had
been harbouring the daughter of a sheep-stealer in
her house ; and then I shall never forget how you
burst into tears, and flying to me, folded your
little arms about my neck, and sobbed upon my
bosom. With cruel vehemence Miss Bridewell
snatched your hand, and led you from the apart
ment; but what stir, what consternation did this
circumstance create? 'Well,' says one young
lady, ' even our wise discerning governess, Miss
Bridewell, may be imposed upon ; her penetration
is not always exempt from deceptions, so artfully
managed as this.' ' No, indeed,' said another,
* she has been finely tricked, for three years to
gether, to spend money on the education of a girl
whose father came to an ignominious end ; good
heavens, how disgraceful a catastrophe ! 1 am
sure if 1 was Miss Bridewell, 1 should never be
happy again, after having introduced such con
tamination into an establishment for young ladies
of fashion.' ' Dear,' cried Lady Maria Trentham
and myself in one breath, ' how can you give
credence to such vague suppositions ? there must
be some mistake.' ' Oh, I dare say it is too true,'
answered Lady Isabella, in which remark she
was joined by my haughty sister. * What a nice
sense of feeling the poor thing must have,' ob
served the tender hearted Lady Maria ; ' how
deeply she was affected when she heard such a
dreadful report surmised.' l Pshaw! nonsense,'
17. 3 D

390 FATHERLKS* FANNY ; OK,

replied Caroline, * to regard the petulance of a
child as a proof of fine feelings — she was fright
ened at the rough manner of Miss Bridewell, but
as to understanding what she said, it is no such
thing.' However, the event soon proved that this
opinion was wron^, for the moment you returned
to the school, you contradicted the rumour that
had been raised, your eyes sparkling with delight,
and every feature animated with joy. At that
error even the proud heart of Caroline was soft
ened, and those who had been most violent in con
demning were become most zealous in applauding
little Fanny, who was once more looked upon as
a human being. But, my dear creature, what
threw me into this contemplative strain, was the
pleasing consideration of the wonder that doubt
less prevails in the bosom of that lady, whom you
know my Lord admires so excessively, now that
you are Duchess of Albemarle ; if we could be
hold her at this present time, what a surprizing al
teration we should see in her deportment ; instead
of the frigid stiff Miss Bridewell, she would be
all complaisance, and ' Your Grace, and your
Grace,' at every word." Lady Ellincourt paused.
" What an explanation !'' said the Duchess — " I
did not expect, when 1 asked the nature of your
thoughts, to be entertained with so long a disser
tation ; but I am obliged to you, my love, for the
recollection of events that perhaps might have
slipped my memory, had not you kindly reminded
me of them." " No," answered Lady Ellincourt,
" that would be impossible — to forget any thing
appertaining to Miss Bridewell would be impos
sible ; a woman possessed of such gentilizing
powers, such remarkable attractions both of mind
and person. Bless me, Fanny, can you talk of
forgetting such super-excellence ?" The Duchess
smiled. a You hare imbibed some of your hus
band's prejudices," said she. " If I have," she

THE LITTLE MKNDICANT. 891

replied, u they are not in favor of the antiquated
maid." " No," said her Grace, "I am well ac
quainted with Lord Ellincourt's opinion of our
amiable governante,and the Duke's coincides with
his. I must own that, from what I can remember,
there was nothing in her appearance or conduct
to excite love, or her sister esteem." " There was
a good deal to excite hatred though," exclaimed
Lord Ellincourt, who at this moment entered the
room ; " burn the witch, what do you couple the
words love and esteem in the same breath with
her for? an animal that never felt or created either.
A piece of still life, because no person ever thought
it worth their while to render her otherwise ; a
being, whose name is aversion, whose parents were
contempt and indifference — her sister is scorn,
and her brother disgust — a nice motley crew. I
should like to see them all together — such a pro
mising family must improve the rising generation."
"As you have painted them, they undoubtedly
must," cried Emily ; " I think I see them now."
" What mischievous creatures," said our heroine,
" how you delight in railing against the poor
lady !" " Ah, Madam, you would say so more,"
answered his Lordship, " if you knew the schemes
we have in contemplation." Emily put her finger
to her lips ; she was fearful he would betray his
secret, but he knew better than to spoil the jest
by such indiscreet measures. " Oh, I know you
are upon something," said the Duchess. " That
we are," returned nis Lordship ; " upon as solid
ground as ever was trod." The ladies Laughed,
but the author of their mirth looked as grave as
if he had been the bearer of the most dismal ia~
telligence : instead of which, his jocose imagina
tion was devising a most curiously concerted plot,
to which no one but his lady was privy, for the
purpose of vexing and astounding the imperious
Miss Bridewell ; it was to be put in execution

392 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

that very day. After some further discourse, the
sprightly nobleman withdrew, to consider perhaps
of the project that was already ripening to his
wishes; and Lady Ellincourt gloried in the suc
cess which she felt assured would attend their
enterprize. The Duchess did not in reality sus
pect that any private designs were meditated by
them, or she would probably have opposed them.
She attributed their uncommon levity to their
mutual dislike of Miss Bridewell; but willing to
change the topic, she enquired, " if her sister, Mrs.
Camel, was expected in England ?" " Oh no," re
plied Lady Emily ; " Caroline resides constantly
at Lisbon. We had a letter from her about a
month ago, and she expressed no desire to revisit
her native clime." " That is singular," answered
Fanny, " that she should not wish to see her
family after such a lapse of years." " Not at all>
my dear, she has not the ideas that you and I
have ; she is my sister, and I ought not to speak
against her, but she has too much pride ever to
be happy herself, or make any one else so." " I
hope she is happy in her marriage,'" resumed
Fanny. " Tolerably so I believe, she makes no
complaints of her consort; but the reason is ob
vious, he has plenty of money to support her ex
travagant propensity to dress, and provided she
can flaunt about in her coach and six, and appear
like the queen of every assembly, she considers
her felicity as supreme. She sets no estimate on
the social affections that characterise her sex.
She never displayed much fondness for her pa
rents, and less for me ; as to her husband, they
may agree well enough as the world goes — they
have had no children Hitherto, but are in expecta
tion of an heir*'' " When she is a mother," said
Fanny, ff she will probably grow more domesti
cated." " I question it," returned Emily : " I am
not a mother, and I flatter ravself my ideas are as

THli LITTLE MENDICANT. 398

domestic as if my genial hearth was surrounded
by a company of innocent babes." " May that
satisfaction at length be yours, lovely Emily!"
energetically cried the Duchess. Lady Ellincourt
sighed ; they had been united three years, and
their loves had not yet been blest with a son ; this
circumstance at times cast a damp over the spirits
of her Ladyship. She was formed for domestic
felicity, and had always been particularly attached
to children; but though she would at times la
ment the circumstance, she was too sensible and
too amiable not to be convinced, that if it was
the Divine will, she would have an offspring to
share the affections of their parents. Fanny per
ceived that she was affected, and tenderly putting
her arm round her waist, partook of the moment
ary anguish she seemed to experience. " My
dear Emily," said she, " wise and inscrutable are
the decrees of Providence. We must submit to
its ordination." " I submit, and with resignation,"
replied Lady Ellincourt : " yet at intervals a tear
of sorrow will force its way in spite of my efforts
to oppose it." Fanny mingled the kind drop of
sympathy with hers, and sought to soothe her by
the most consoling expressions. They at length
succeeded, and she gained her usual composure.
Lady Ellincourt retired to perform some of her
necessary avocations, and our heroine hastened
to rejoin the family below. She found her mother
and the Dowager Lady Ellincourt recounting
past transactions. The former had been weep
ing, but was now more tranquil. Fanny flew to
her, and embraced her with an ardency yet stron
ger, if possible, than she had before done. Mrs.
Hamilton returned hercaresses with equal warmth;
each felt the true force of their relationship, and
the recollection of former sufferings rendered
their present happiness the greater. This day
passed on without any thing further of con-

3U-4 FATIJKIlLKfcS FANNY •; OK,

sequence transpiring. In the evening the Duchess
of Albemarle received the following letter from
her friend, Lady Mornington : —

" My dear Fanny,

" I find you are still a resident at that dreary
Abbey, and preferring the moping life of its in
habitants to the gay splendor of London. Bless
me, my dear, you astonish me — you that are the
universal ton wherever you display that angel face,
to endure the very thought of spending half your
time in solitary confinement, the bare reflection is
shocking. You were born to be admired, and
yet you would veil your beauties from every eye.
Perhaps to this observation you may answer —
Why, I have gained the man of my heart, and have
no more victories to seek. All very true, but shall
the Duchess of Albemarle lie buried beneath a
cloud, whilst Lady Mornington trips it about on
' the light fantastic toe ?' I can assure your Grace
that 1 have no inclination to conceal my astonish
ing perfections within a moss-grown glen, though
I have not the smallest design of meeting with a
conqueror that shall rival poor Sir Everard ; nor,
if I had, do I believe I could accomplish such a
scheme, for he is really a very good sort of man,
and I love him in as high a degree as my nature is
capable of admitting the tender passion : he loves
me with the most ardent affection, but the attach
ment is not sufficiently strong on either side to
induce us to seclude ourselves from the world for
the sake of each other. We live in the true style
of prime and bang-up, and are no sooner seen in
one place than we are present in another. Last
night we saw the comedy of the Provoked Hus
band performed at Covent-garden Theatre. I
could not forbear smiling at the aptitude of the
lady's character to mine, and once I whispered to
Sir Everard, * recollect I am Lady Townly — now

THE LITTLK MENDICANT. 396

imagine yourself my Lord, and turn tyrant all in
a minute.' ' I am not such a sentimentalist as Lord
Townly, my dear,' he answered, rather archly. I
believe this reply was made without premeditation,
but conscience perhaps made me receive it as a
reproof. I blushed like crimson, and to my in
expressible mortification, I beheld his large full
eye fixed upon my countenance, as it underwent
this change, which of course increased my con
fusion. During this discourse I lost the best part
of the play, for I never hardly felt so chagrined.
The circumstance however passed over, and I
had too much prudence ever to renew it. But
sometimes 1 am in doubt whether I shall not carry
my volatility to too great lengths. Sir Everard
praises my versatile powers, and says, that no
woman was ever a greater adept in the art of
pleasing than his Amelia. A very fine compliment
certainly, yet I will not dare to say that it is de
served. I know my defects, and likewise, that
many of them are unconquerable. As to spright-
liness, so far from considering that a defect, I
think it the only merit I possess; without a smail
portion of life and spirit a woman may as well be
inanimate — but that spirit may be pursued to too
high a pitch. I will allow, there is not a virtue
to be mentioned that may not be set too much
store by. The virtues which adorn us most,
though they cannot be too highly prized, will, if
they lead to censoriousness, lose their brilliancy ;
even female chastity itself becomes like the win
ter's sun, which, devoid of its accustomed warmth
but dimly shines, when the possessor makes it
her chief study to emblazon the errors of those
whose errant feet have strayed into the enticing
but peace-destroying paths of folly ; let us act as
conformable to the rules of strict propriety as we
can, but let us not too severely censure those who
have swerved. I am now getting into a train of

396 FATHERLESS FANNY J On,

reflections that but ill accord with my accustom
ed gaiety. I must alter my tone, or you will not be
prevailed upon to credit the evidence of your
eyes. Let me hear from you upon receipt of this.
As soon as you are returned from Hampshire, we
shall pay you a visit, though I know not how we
shall support being absent from London so long
as the period we appointed ; I would rather see
you in the latter place : you shone there whilst
in the character of the lovely Fatherless Fanny —
now that a coronet adorns your brow, with double
satisfaction should I behold you surrounded by
the applauses of an admiring multitude. I hope
the Duke is well ; my unsentimentalist desires to
be remembered to his Grace. I am, my dearest
Fanny, Your affectionate friend,

AMELIA MORNIKGTON."

The Duchess read this letter with emotions of
sincere pleasure. She was always glad to hear
from Lady Mornington, but her joy was now ten
fold, as she felt a conviction that the uncommon
gaiety of her friend was partly giving way to no
bler sentiments. She instantly took up her pen
and wrote as follows: —

My dear Amelia,

I no longer address the giddy Miss Stanhope,
but the discerning and amiable Lady Mornington.
1 flatter myself, from the style of your letter, that
you are preparing yourself to renounce the plea
sures you would persuade me to indulge in; you
seem to be getting gradually tired of superfluous
vanities, and as if you could bear to stay at home
one day without actually dying — this is a good
omen of the future. 1 suppose Sir Everard begins
to dislike show and noise, and as liis inclinations
change so will yours — a proof that your affection
is sincere. lean assure you that I lead by no

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3&T

means a moping life at Pemberton Abbey, if we
have not public places to frequent we have plenty
of company, and are in no want of any reasonable
entertainment. For my part, I cannot call that life
moping, that is spent under the roof of my be
loved parents, those revered relatives that have
suffered such an accumulation of sorrow, and
are at length reinstated in their rights — long were
they the victims of tyrannic oppression, but God
in his wise justice has punished their tormentors,
and rewarded them for their patience in calamity;
they are the worthiest and the happiest of people,
and the felicity of your Fanny is complete. The
Duke is the tenderest of husbands, and the best
of men. I have not one wish in the world — he^
gives me not an opportunity of wishing, for he ge
nerously anticipates the very shadow of a desire,
and gratifies it 'ere it can be termed a wish. 1
hope this conduct in him will not have the ef
fect of making me forget myself; there are such
things as spoilt children, and spoilt wives, but I
have no mind to be spoilt. I love to be treat
ed with affection, and in return to be affectionate ;
the character of the Duke is such, that he must
either be loved or hated, it is impossible to
speak of l%im as we may of many persons, with
indifference, as — he is very well, I neverheard any
harm of him. So striking are his merits, that those
who are advocates for virtue must immediately
launch into his praise, and those who are enemies
to it will probably be as violent in declaiming
against him ; he, is liberal and humane to the af
flicted ; he does not merely relieve distress, but
he dives into the extent of that distress, and
warmly participates in the woes of the traveller :
his heart and his purse are together open — the
latter is often a token of ostentation, but where the
former dictates it to assist in alleviating mendi
city, then is gold a blessing to its owner. Oh, my
17. 3 E

398 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

Amelia, I am sure you will join with me in as
serting that my happiness is greater than the ge
nerality of my sex, and much greater than I
could ever have dared to hope for ; if it is not per
manent, it must be my own fault. We shall take
leave of my dear parents, and our beloved friends
the Ellincourts, next week, and shall expect you
and Sir Everard without fail the folio wing in Hamp
shire; though it is the country, I do not think
you will have to complain of dulness, at least
thus much will I say, whilst you enliven it with
your presence, you can neither be dull yourself,
or suffer us to be so ; do not disappoint by a refusal,
her, who in an ecstacy of delight styles herself,
Your ever affectionate,

FRANCES ALBEMARLE.

Having finished this epistle and folded it up,
Fanny laid it in her cabinet till the morning should
present her with an opportunity of dispatching it
by the post. She then repaired to the supper
room, after which, the parties retired to their re
spective apartments, Lord Ellincourt and his lady
to dream of the plot they had been planning to
teize their favorite Miss Bridewell.

CHAPTER XL1.

An Hoax.

IN the morning, the family having assembled at
breakfast, the newspaper was brought in. Lord
llincourt skimmed the cream of the week's trans
actions, and then turning to the side of the adver-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 399

tisements, his eye quickly rested upon one that
seemed to engage his attention — whether acci
dentally or by design may be easily guessed.
" What has your Lordship met with to divert
your fancy ?" asked the artful Emily. " You shall
hear," answered his Lordship, and with as grave
an aspect as he could assume, he read aloud the
following curious advertisement : — u Wanted to
place a young lady in a genteel establishment, a
.few miles from town, for the completion of her
education. The friends of the said young lady are
anxious to lodge her under the roof of a person
whose character is tender and benevolent, and
from whom she will receive maternal kindness,
as she is in a very delicate state of health — she is
seventeen. They have heard in such a favorable
manner of the sensibility and kindness of Miss
Bridewell, of Myrtle Grove, that they would feel
themselves happy to intrust their precious charge
to her care. Should this public information meet
her eye, it is requested that she will be at Rich
mond to-morrow or Wednesday, between the hours
of twelve and three ; then, if the terms should
suit, there will be no hesitation on the part of her
family. To avoid unnecessary trouble to either
party, a premium of one hundred and fifty guineas
per annum will be given with the young lady, as
she will require particular care and attendance.
A written address will not do — an interview must
be obtained with whoever wishes to accept this
offer. Apply as above, at the house of Sir Thomas
Hartland, Bart. M. P." " A singular advertise
ment," said Emily, as Lord Ellincourt finished.
" Who, in the name of wonder, can have heard
of her kindness and sensibility ? where can she
have had the ingenuity to conceal such desirable
qualities?" cried .his Lordship ; '• I should almost
imagine this was some trick to give the old lady
a journey, did I not consider that she was beneath

400 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

anybody's putting themselvesto the inconvenience
of hoaxing her." Emily smiled, but did not reply.
The Duke of Albemarle alone suspected the truth
of the affair ; he watched the countenance of El-
lincourt, and thought it betokened him concerned
in it, though he affected surprise. The Duchess,
ever willing to allow merit, said, " that perhaps
Miss Bridewell might have done good traits,
though they had escaped their observation." They
all protested they did not believe she had one,
and this whimsical circumstance presently created
the general mirth of the whole company — it was
impossible to start any other topic during break
fast, and when the things were removed, each in
dividual retired to perform their separate duties,
musing on what had afforded them such a fund of
entertainment : here we leave them for a while,
and transport the reader to la mile des sciences, at
Myrtle Grove. After this advertisement had ap
peared in the papers of daily intelligence, it was
pointed out to that lady by Mrs. Dawson, who had
now returned from abroad, and was again living
with Miss Bridewell. She had amassed a great
deal of money in the lucrative situation she had
embraced in Ireland, but Mrs. Oo"ell dying sud
denly, she experienced another change. She
wrote to Miss Bridewell, expressing her desire to
be with her as formerly, and renewing her profes
sions of friendship ; they were received with zeal,
and in the answer, the dear Dawson was requested
to hasten instantly to her home, for such she was
henceforth to consider it. She was reinstated in
all her privileges, and her government was paid
nearly as much deference to as that of the prin
cipal. When Miss Bridewell had glanced her
eyes over the paragraph so highly flattering to
her vanity, they sparkled with pleasure. She gave
the paper into the hands of Mrs. Dawson, saying,
" read it, Dawson, \ am sure you will think it an

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 401

eligible offer." She read it, and then replied,
in her usual style of duplicity, " that it was likely
to prove a very advantageous thing, but she did
not think the money was more thao ought to be
given under such circumstances." Miss Bridewell
declared herself satisfied with it, and resolved to
set off for Richmond the next morning, and secure
her pupil if possible; thus determined, she felt her
heart lighter than she had known it for some time,
yet its oppression was never violent, but now and
then she of course met with losses and disappoint
ments in her school, from which no person in
whatever condition is exempt. She had received
on that day the remainder of the expences owing;
to her from the Marquis of Petersfield — that had
exhilarated her spirits : she had been apprehen
sive that she should never regain it, as the young
ladies had left school upwards of two years; ^ts
coming unexpectedly, made it the more agreeable,
and the thoughts of an additional hundred and
fifty guineas, increased her good humour to such
a pitch, that she scarcely resembled herself — h«r
countenance brightened up, and a smile of placi
dity overspread her features. She commended
the diligence of her scholars with more than ordi
nary warmth ; in short, quite threw off the austerity
inherent in her nature. The following day, a post
chaise was ordered to be in readiness at an early
hour, as the distance from Myrtle Grove to Rich
mond was nine miles. She drest herself in her
most splendid robes, with a view no doubt of
adding to her beauty, and the moment she heard
the chaise drive into the great court yard, she was
down the steps, and in the vehicle. She knew, or
thought she knew, that she could confide in her
beloved Dawson, and she was under no uneasiness
at leaving the management of her seminary to her.
She directed the postillion to drive with speed to
the appointed place ; he obeyed her commands,

402 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

but every mile was a league in her opinion.
When they arrived at Richmond, he was told to
enquire for the house of Sir Thomas Hartland, for
she was perfectly unacquainted with the name.
The man, after asking several labouring people
, which was the residence of the honorable knight,
at length informed Miss Bridewell, that no such
person lived in the neighbourhood. " No such
person lives in the neighbourhood!" .exclaimed
she, drawing herself up with astonishment : " im
possible — it is but yesterday I saw his name and
address in the public paper ; 1 am sure that it
must be on the spot, I will wait in the chaise
while you go and seek further — my business is of
importance, and cannot be delayed." He accord
ingly went and demanded of every one that seemed
likely to give such intelligence, whether the said
Sir Thomas Hartland was dwelling in those en
virons or not: nobody seemed able or willing to
grant him any information on the subject — a few
had never heard of the Baronet; at last, a man,
habited in the garb of a peasant, said, " that about
six months before, a gentleman, if he deserved
that appellation, who bore the title of Sir Thomas
Hartland, had resided in those quarters, but he
had for ever disgraced the honour of his sex, by
running away with the wife of Sir Charles Atter-
bury — they were now fled to America ; it was a
case that had called for heavy damages. Sir
Thomas had forfeited twenty thousand pounds,
but could that be any recompence to Sir Charles
for the irreparable injury he had sustained ? He was
gone to France, and had engaged with the Welling
ton troops, hoping to forget, in the rough din of
war, the tenderness of slighted affection ; they had
no heirs. Nor was the name of Hartland known to
belong to any other person." When John returned
to the chaise with this truly distressing news, the
grief and amazement of Miss Bridewell may be

THE LITTLE MKND1CANT. 4l)3

easier conceived than described. She looked
petrified, and in hurried accents expressed her in
dignation at the trick that had been evidently put
upon her — " to come thus far," said she, " and
meet with such an imposition as this — insufferable
insolence. I will find out who has dared to deceive
me in such a manner, that I will," she continued,
her countenance growing more infuriated. The
postillion stared at her vehemence, but made no
answer. At length, he was ordered to drive back
to Myrtle Grove, as no expectations remained of
discovering any thing further. As the chaise drew
on she had time to meditate on the serious mis
fortune she had encountered, for such she called
every event that happened to oppose her wishes,
instead of favoring them. She was doubly morti
fied at reflecting on the depravity of the character
she was enquiring after : she felt an inward con
viction that there must be some one who was her
secret enemy, and wished to injure her pure fame —
the thought was bitter ; she reached her home in a
state of mind agonizing beyond imagination. Mrs.
Dawson came out to meet her ; the moment she
saw her face, she was sure something unpleasant
had transpired. The postillion being discharged,
Miss Bridewell entered the house, loudly exclaim
ing against the fraud that had been practised.
" Dear Madam, what has happened?" asked the
impatient Dawson, " thus to disconcert you ; you
look as pale as death, and as if misery had planted
its image in your heart." t; Oh, you know not
how I have been served," cried Miss B. in a voice
trembling with rage ; " I at present want words to
tell you." " Stay till you are more composed,"
said Mrs. D. She sat down panting for breath,
and unable even to soften the weight of her cares
by unburthening them to her friend. As soon as
her spirits were in a degree tranquillized, she re
lated the important affair that had so much dis-

401 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

tressed her. Mrs. D. listened in silent dismay, and
affected the sincerest concern at so melancholy an
incident; though she had protested to think lightly
of a hundred and fifty guineas a year, she in reality
thought it an estimable increase. As her attach
ment to Miss B. was not quite so strong as she
wished her to believe, her disappointment was not
so great as she expressed. She attempted to con
sole her in a language such as she thought calcu
lated to produce the effect she desired, at least if
her condolences were inefficacious, her seeming
endeavours were regarded by Miss B. as sufficient
tokens of her ardent friendship ; she embraced her
dear Dawson, and said, " if her troubles would ad
mit of consolation, the method she took to mitigate
them must succeed ; but that, alas ! they were of
too poignant a nature to be alleviated." Her pride
was wounded — to think any one should dare to
sport with her in so ludicrous a way was a matter
of amaze, and who it could be that so far pre
sumed, she was totally at a loss to conjecture. She
continued raving against the deceit that had been
exercised, and did not make her appearance in the
school that day, as her frame was too agitated to
bear the smallest fatigue ; she retired early to her
chamber, and Mrs. Dawson felt herself highly ho
nored in having such implicit confidence placed in
her by Miss B. though her conduct did not prove
deserving of it, for she took advantage of the nu
merous opportunities whichshe had to deduct many
little profits to herself, that she had no reasonable
right to do. Her salary was two hundred a year ;
with that she might have been happy, but she was
gifted with the powers of dissimulation, and knew
well how to avail herself of the influence which
her artfuladdress made her gain over the generality
of the world. To return to Pemberton Abbey.
tt was long before its inhabitants could recover
from the surprise into which this event had thrown

TiLE LITTLE MtlNDK'ANT. 405

them. " Strange," observed the Duchess, " that
any one should advertise for Miss Bridewell, when
they could as well go to Myrtle Grove, and obtain
an interview with her." " It is mysterious," an
swered Lady Ellincourt; " I suppose they have
particular reasons for so doing," and changed the
discourse. " We shall have a party to-day," she
continued, " as you, my love, leave us next week;
we expect Lord and Lady Mountmorris, Lord and
Lady Newcomb, Sir Richard and Lady Palmer,
and half a hundred fashionables besides. Your
poor dear mother has been so shut up in that odi
ous castle in Ireland, that the world is quite new
to her; she seldom saw the face of a living creature,
while she was distinguished as Lady Ballafyn;
she never saw his Lordship except at those pe
riods when he was pleased to lay additional re
strictions on his unhappy victim : even the ser
vants were denied access to her apartments, ex
clusive of those who were under his appointment."
A tear started into the eye of Fanny; the repe
tition of the cruelties her mother had suffered,
caused her heart to throb with anguish. Emily,
perceiving her emotion, said, " but her sorrows
are past, and her joys are yet to come." " Ah !"
sighed our heroine, " but how many of those years
that ought to have been devoted to love and feli
city have been sacrificed to the villainy of that
monster." " Too true," replied Lady Ellincourt,
" yet as time cannot be recalled, we must strive
to banish these melancholy reflections, and only
contemplate on future prospects of prosperity."
To this remark her Grace assented; and now
hastened to hold some private conversation with
Mrs. Hamilton. When she announced that visi
tors were coming, that lady turned pale. " Alas!"
said she, " I know not how I shall support the
presence of company. I have lived so long in a
state of seclusion, that 1 am scarcely fit to appear
18. 3 F

406 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

before a fashionable assemblage; you, my daugh
ter, will grace the table." " But do not weep, my
dearest mother," cried Fanny, folding her arms
about her in a tender embrace, u grief is fled, and
bliss shall henceforth reign within these walls —
you would grace any society ; the friends of Lady
Ellincourt, are acquainted with the trials you have
undergone, they will not therefore expect to see a
gay and giddy woman, delighting in vain nobility,
and a stranger to rational amusements : your sor
rows must have already engaged their esteem, and
when they have seen you, they will doubtless be
come prejudiced in your favor." " You are very
compassionate to my feelings, my child," replied
Mrs. Hamilton ; " but I fear, that instead of hav
ing engaged the esteem of the friends of my wor
thy aunt, they have imbibed an unfavorable opi
nion of me, as Lord Ballafyn took care to spread
every where the report of my infidelity, and to
represent my character to the world as tainted
with etery vice." " O let not that consideration
distress you," answered Fanny — " Lord Bal*
lafyn was known to be a wretch, and regarded as
such by every class of beings — his conduct ob
tained him the universal detestation of mankind ;
therefore his calumnies were listened to with ab
horrence, and disbelieved as often as they were
uttered." This suggestion seemed to infuse com
fort in the breast of Mrs. Hamilton. She ad
mitted its possibility, but doubted its probability.
" Lord Ballafyn, said she, " had money, and that
will pervert the consciences of Mortals, and make
them lean not on the side of justice, but of tyranny
and oppression. Bribery is not to be withstood
by this mercenary age. Concerned am I to say,
that ready instrument of guilt destroys the morals
of individuals more than any thing that can be
mentioned. I have been unjustly slandered, but
it will be difficult to convince the world that this is

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 407

the case." '» I hope you will find it easier than
you imagine," said the Duchess, " your sufferings,
my beloved mother, have demanded commisera
tion, and the exemplary manner in which you
endured them, must eternally exalt you." Mrs.
Hamilton kissed the cheek of her daughter. "Thou
art a powerful consoler," said she, " thy words
would almost persuade me that matters are as thou
hast taught thyself to wish ; however, I will trust
in that God, before whom I have asserted my inno
cence, and who is acquainted with the purity of
mj soul to him I have confided my every care,
and in him 1 will rely for future succour. The
triumph of my enemies- has ceased, as they can no
longer exult over my misfortunes — they are, I
trust, forgiven, and at rest." Mrs. Hamilton here
wept, and Fanny mingled her tears with her's.
By degrees she regained a small portion of com
posure. " I will," said she, " join the company,
and assume as cheerful an aspect as I am capable
of. If I show an unwillingness to appear, they will
interpret my behaviour into something very diffe-
ent from the truth ; and virtue never endeavours
to wear the face of vice, though vice frequently
adopts that of virtue." With this observation, the
Duchess quitted the apartment, and went herself
to prepare for the coming of the visitors.

CHAPTER XLII.

A Sketch of Characters, and Fashionable
Conversation.

AT length the gay party arrived. The court
yard was thronged with carriages, and Pemberton

409 FATilEULKMK FANNY ; OK,

Abbey became a scene of noise and bustle — a pic
ture totally the reverse of what it usually was ; for
the Do-wager Lady Ellincourt, was a woman that
had ever loved retirement, though her situation
had obliged her to join the great world, and parti
cipate in what were termed the pleasures of the
day. She had always been an admirer of nature
and its beauties; consequently, when she could
gain an hour's relaxation, she embraced it with
transport, and before she was an occupant of Pem-
berton Abbey, she possessed a country seat in Nor
thumberland, where she frequently resided. After
she came to the latter place she seldom visited
London ; she was then at an age when women ge
nerally begin to be tired of routs and bustle, and
prefer a life of sentimental rationality. Upon
the union of her son, however, she was far from
desirous of immuring them in solitude, she there
fore kept a good deal of company, and by chance
took a retrospect of towh, as it is called. Lady
Ellincourt, though less volatile than most of her
sex, was naturally pleased with the amusements
that appeared to be suited to the present times ;
and it is not to be supposed that her sprightly
Lord would endure restraint; he had been spoilt
when a child, therefore could not bear the smal
lest controul as a man. To proceed, it is neces
sary we should give a faint insight into the cha
racters of the persons invited on this occasion.
Lord Mountmorris was about fifty, he still re
tained a commanding air and expressive counte
nance, his mind was truly noble, as the succeed
ing pages will prove, and his disposition, such as
few can boast. He was married, unfortunately
married, to one of the vilest termagants that ever
existed ; she was scarcely eighteen, and beautiful
as an angel ; under every exterior attraction that
nature could bestow, she concealed a heart more
treacherous than a serpent's, She had imposed on

THE LITTLE MUNDli'ANT. 409

the best of men, by an outward appearance of
goodness, and too effectu ally secured him for her
prey. They had been united but .six months, and
reason already had he to curse the day that made
him a slave to her fascinations. He had known
Lady Ellincourt many years, and had been the
sincere friend of her husband : she was the only
person that he could venture to advise with, or to
unbosom his grief to.

When, in the fulness of his joy, he informed
her that he was going to lead to the altar his
amiable and adored Miss Rivers, she said,
" Mountmorris, I wish you truly happy, but I
am afraid you will be miserable." She had heard
of the gaiety and dissipation of Miss Rivers, and
she was too disinterested to flatter with hopes of
bliss, where she thought the cloud of wretched
ness was impending ; she was concerned for his
Lordship, and he was almost angry with Lady
Ellincourt for suggesting an idea, however remote,

Y * •

that might in the least prejudice him against
h|s intended bride. Too soon however he found
she was right — he had been deceived, most cruelly
deceived ; dearly did he pay for beauty and ac
complishments — she embittered every moment of
his life, nor did he know the extent of his in
juries, as he was not of a jealous temper. She had
an intriguing spirit ; in short, to number her vices,
would occupy a larger space than the limits of
this chapter would allow. When he imparted
his sorrows to the benevolent Lady Ellincourt,
she commiserated them with feelings of anguish,
such as greatness dignified as hers could not
fail to have for the friend she esteemed*; she
felt for his affliction, but wishing to preserve his
acquaintance, she was obliged to be on terms of
civility with his lady, though in her heart she
despised her. They were often invited to Pem-
berton Abbey, and as often, the conduct of

410 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Lady M. created increased disgust in the breast
of Lady Ellincourt. We hastily pass on to the
other guests. Lord Newcomb was what is called
a man of the world, he was a first-rate jockey,
and a famous hunter ; he had married on the
common fashionable views of interest, and as he
neither cared for his lady, nor she for him, they
were very well matched — little therefore can be
said of them. Sir Richard Palmer was an avow
ed libertine, and a hard drinker, consequently a
tyrant of a husband ; Lady Palmer was the most
amiable of women. Thus unequally are the
sexes united. No wonder that such ill-assorted
nuptials produce discordant strife. When hearts
are paired at Hymen's temple, then may happi
ness reign, but where hands alone do meet, fare
well to happiness for ever. Sir Richard was,
likewise, what is termed a freethinker, in plain
words, an Atheist. He did not hesitate to profane
the most sacred writings; whenever the subject
of religion was started, he suffered his wit to
flow at the expence of hazarding an eternal for
feiture of God's favor. It may appear singular,
that such a character should have been encou
raged as a visitor at the table of Lady Ellincourt,
but it was the love she bore to Lady Palmer, while
bearing the name of Miss Hargrave, that induced
her to keep up an intercourse with a wretch so
abandoned as Sir Richard. She had repeatedly at
tempted to argue with him on his want of tender
ness for his deserving partner, and prevail upon
him to abstain from the unlawful pleasures in
which he was wont to indulge; but her rhetoric
was thrown away — he acknowledged the worth
and excellence of Lady P. but declared that
the passion of variety was so strong, that he
found it impossible to resist the warmtfy of his
inclinations. He had been accustomed to set no
limits to his inordinate desires ; and as to v irtue,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 411

he had been taught to consider it as an object of
ridicule. In this manner he answered the kind
remonstrances of Lady Ellincourt, and his indif
ference and hatred of his wife, became every day
more obvious; she was doomed to suffer, but she
suffered innocently. Of the remainder of the
visitors few observations can be made. Sir An
thony Dale, a gentleman of philosophic genius
and deep reflection ; he was a batchelor, not be
cause his person was disagreeable, or his manners
forbidding, for neither were the case — he had every
requisite that could please the other sex, but he
had no heart to bestow ; he was so much attached
to his schemes of speculation, that he had always
fancied a wife would be an incumbrance, and
therefore determined to live free. He possessed
such traits of goodness as ever recommended
him to the society of the wise ; there was an aus
terity in his deportment, which had the effect of
creating him many enemies, but it was those
whose acquaintance with him was slight, and
who were, perhaps, too much prejudiced against
him to seek to discover the inestimable qualities
with which his nature was replete. Where he
was known he was esteemed and beloved — as a
son, he followed the example of that great and
inestimable poet, POPE — as a friend, he was
constant — as a companion, lively and spirited—
in conversation a wit, yet cautious now and
where he directed his satire — refined from the
company he kept, and the studies he was engaged
in — to women he was always polite, never gal
lant — he was generous without ostentation — and
brave without being a warrior. The next in our
list was Captain Townsend, he had distinguished
himself in his military career, and was certainly,
a brave* officer, and he was always extolling the
courage of the General under whom he served.
The last we shall speak of in this place, is Dr.

412 FATHER!. F.SS FANNY; OK,

Woodward, the minister of the parish, who I
must not omit stating, conferred honor on his
cloth. He was religious, without being a higot ;
his ideas were not confined as are those of many
of the clergy. True religion never has the effect of
making people dull ; it, on the contrary, infuses
cheerfulness in every breast. It is only false pro
fessors that are rendered phlegmatic and miser
able by what they misinterpret into piety, but
what is in reality hypocrisy ; there can be no reli
gion without morality, and moral reflections, in
spire adoration for the Great Creator. If we adore
him and all his works, why should our contem
plations be melancholy ? If we view him as a stern
and remorseless judge, that is deaf to the voice of
our complaints, wrho has barred our progress to
Heaven, and has consigned us to perdition, then
may we repine at Providence, and murmur at our
fate; but if we esteem him as a beneficent God,
fraught with holiness, and rich in mercy, our
meditations will abound in sublimity, we shall no
longer indulge in gloom, but elevate our thoughts
to praise his name divine. Of this description,
was the Rev. Dr. Woodward. He was universally
respected by his poor parishioners — would that I
could add, by his rich ones; but as he devoted
half his income to acts of charity, the very means
that raised him in the opinion of the former,
lowered him in that of the latter — at least, though
they were obliged to acknowledge his claim to
esteem, they hated him with an inveterate rancour.
Vice is generally averse to virtue: they had thou
sands, and refused to spare a small portion to al
leviate the distresses of their fellow-creatures;
they could therefore not bear the reflection, that,
Dr. Woodward, with a third part of their for
tunes, should spend it in such nobler pursuits.
Conscience reproached them, as it will do at every
error we commit, however we may strive to banish

LITTLE IflBNDICANt,

that unwelcome guest, it sticks close, and never
quits us. We must now drop these subjects, and
convey the reader to the table of Lady Ellincourt,
where the visitors were now assembled. When
the Duchess of Albemarle entered the room, she
was of course greeted with unanimous applause,
every tongue congratulated her on her auspicious
nuptials — she returned their salutations with be
coming dignity and ease. " Give me leave," said
Lady Mountmorris, in her usual affected style,
" to wish your Grace many years of uninterrupted
happiness." " I am obliged to your Ladyship,"
answered the Duchess, " nor do I despair of the
felicity you so kindly invoke." Fanny was struck
with the surprising beauty of this lady, yet there;
was something in her aspect so expressive of the
vixen, that it was impossible for her charms to
make that impression as if they had been temper
ed with a look of modesty and innocence. Her eyes
were of a dark hazel, remarkably handsome, but
full of wildness and savage fire; her complexion;
outvied the lily and the rose, her form was irve-
sistibly attracting ; yet amidst all these personal
requisites, neither her air or address were desir
able. She seemed proud, conceited, and self-suffi
cient. When Mrs. Hamilton appeared, she was
received by some of the guests with respect and
courtesy, by others with civility and distant hau
teur ; a few perhaps maintained the former be
haviour from her being the mother of the Duchess,
and a few from very different motives. Lord
Mountmorris, Sir Anthony Dale, and the excel
lent Dr. Woodward, knew her worth, and could
feel for injured virtue. Lady M. preserved a
coolness in her deportment, and conversed with
Mrs. Hamilton as little as possible, but Lady
Palmer paid her particular attention — she had
herself experienced unhappiness, which made her
more inclined to compassionate others. During
18 3 <*

414 FAtllEKLESS FANNY 4 On,

dinner, the conversation turned on the usual fash
ionable topics. Lord Newcomb began a dis
sertation on his favorite theme, horse-racing. " I
vow and protest," said he, " that only last week
I won a thousand guineas by the dexterity of Sir
Nicholas Blanchard, as fine and as fleet an ani
mal as ever trod the turf — am I not a lucky dog?"
" I think you are," returned Sir Richard. " If
it is not an impertinent question," said Dr. Wood
ward, " may I ask whether your Lordship ap
propriated part of that sum to the benefit of the
poor?" His lordship started at this query, as if
ne had been struck with a flash of lightning.
" Why no," at length he replied, " I can always
find uses for my money." " I dx> not doubt it, my
Lord, but you cannot find a more eligible use,
than in contributing to the comforts of the neces
sitous ; the approbation of your own heart, and
the blessings of the poor, will always attend you
for acting so agreeably to its dictates." " Pshaw !"
answered Lord Newcomb, " I don't like mora
lizing." The worthy minister would of course
have said no more, but Sir Richard Palmer pro
ceeded — <e Self- approbation, Sir, 1 scarcely know
what it means." " Consult your conscience^ Sir
Richard, when you have done a worthy or bene
volent action, and that will best inform you." A
sarcastic smile was his reply. " There are some peo
ple, I believe," cried the blunt Sir Anthony Dale,
" that never partake of the enjoyment self-appro
bation affords, they scorn to do a deed of justice,
much less of charity ; therefore, it is not to be
wondered at, that they are ignorant of the
terms." Sir Richard looked haughtily at Sir
Anthony, as he concluded this remark, but the
latter was too much the philosopher to notice or
to care for his dis-esteem. " I think we should
vary this subject," said Lady Mountmorris, " it
grovrs tedious 5" the expressive glance of her

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 415

eyes, as she spoke, did not escape the notice of
Sir Richard, and as those of the company were
directed another way, he had an opportunity of
returning the sense they conveyed ; they both
pretty well understood each other. Capt. Towns-
end now entered upon the state of the country,
and the happy result of the late glorious war.
Sir Anthony begged leave to differ from him in
opinion. " I do not think," said he, " that the
result of the war, or the peace, has been produc
tive of the effects we had so fondly anticipated."
" How," exclaimed the Captain, " pray explain
yourself." " Why," replied Sir Anthony, " was
there ever greater wickedness practised than at
this present day ? does not the world seem ar
rived at a pitch of vice too great for human en
durance ?" " It does, but can your philosophy,
Sir Anthony, prove to me, that the increase of
crime is owing to the national peace." " Not
exactly," replied Sir Anthony, " for peace is the
only situation in which a nation can exist happy
and virtuous, but it is evident to the most super
ficial observer, that the transition from war to
peace has suddenly increased crime. Nay, Cap
tain, reserve your smile till 1 conclude. I am
no advocate for war, and although I have said
that the transition from one state to another was
the producing cause of the overflowing of vice,
yet, as I have often asserted before, 1 consider war
in the first instance its generating principle. In
every populous nation, and particularly a manu
facturing one, when the inhabitants for the better
managing of their concerns, are obliged to form
towns on an extended scale, there will, until Chris
tianity more vitalJy plants itself, be found men of
dissolute habits, and on the breaking out of war,
the well-disposed will do all in their power to
send those characters to the army. You cannot,
Captain, from the time you have spent in the

416 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

service, buf have observed this; you also well
know, that those vile characters soon contaminate
the simple country lad, and lead him on in the
ways of vice, till he becomes more an adept in
licentiousness than his instructor; and those men,
freed from the restraints of military discipline,
rush upon the community, and spread, by their
evil example, immorality and irreligion to our
most remote and sequestered villages. It is a
point argued by some, that war is not to be avoid
ed ; this I deny generally, though, except in case of
actual invasion, I cannot see why a nation ought
to engage in the murderous employment. War is
condemned by Christianity, and, therefore, incom
patible with its profession. Peace, though now
the apparentcause, will I am certain, in time, re
medy those evils which war, and its concomitant,
taxation, has brought upon us."

The Captain was far from convinced by his
arguments; he was one of those opiniated mor
tals that if he formed a judgment he could never
be prevailed on to alter it ; he did not, even for
the sake of good manners, affect to acquiesce in
the sentiments of others. So fond was he of op
position, that he seldom coincided, though they
chanced to agree with his own, Sir Anthony
did not pursue the discourse, and it soon changed,
his conversation was chiefly directed to Lord
Mountmorris and Dr. Woodward ; those three
gentlemen seemed mutually pleased with each
other. Sir Richard Palmer at intervals, surveyed
the Dr. with looks of mingled contempt and dis
like ; his being a clergyman was enough to make
him hated by a man of his dissolute principles;
had he been at any other table than Lady Ellin -
court's, he would probably have shook off the
mask of outward decorum, and vowed openly, to
insult the worthy divine ; but in her presence, and
before such distinguished characters as she enter-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 417

tained, he was obliged to preserve an air of re
spect. Earl Vincent was a nobleman remarkable
for boasting of his genealogy. At every assembly
he regularly presented the company with an ac
count of his pedigree. He was descended from
a branch of the Northumberlands, and could
trace back his family to several generations. He
was upwards of eighty ; but as vain of his nobility
as a youth just acquainted with his pedigree.
Thus do we continue in a labyrinth of folly till
death surprises us with his iron dart, and 'ere we
are apprised of his near approach, wings our
course to the regions of eternity. This gentle
man conversed with much freedom; and if he
had said less of himself, his society would have
been more agreeable.

Lady Mountmorris looked and behaved as if
she believed herself the superior of every body,
and whatever subject was started by her Lord,
she pointedly expressed herself averse to, and in
troduced something else. But when Sir Richard
Palmer spoke, she listened with evident avidity,
and joined in his opinion. Had he been less a liber
tine, he could scarcely have resisted such conduct
as she displayed : as it was, he marked her for an
easy bait. Oh, woman, woman ! beware how you
treat with contempt the husband of your choice.
If you would escape the snares of a seducer, be
have to him with respect and attention. A maii
will seldom dare to insult a female, by a mention of
his unlawful passion, who shows affection and re
verence for her husband. He will be too certain of
meeting with a refusal to hazard such a pique to
his vanity, and the dread of having his charac
ter exposed, may likewise, in a measure, prevent
him. A single view of Lady Mountmorris would
have informed any person of the smallest pene
tration, that little persuasion was necessary to ac
complish her ruin. There was no danger, how-

418 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

ever, of Sir Richard depriving; her of her reputa
tion, as it had long been sacrificed. She was also
so imprudent as to speak with scorn of people in
years; though Lord Mountmorris was past the
prime of life, and several others were present who
were considerably advanced. This was not
merely an essential breach of politeness, but it
clearly evinced that her Ladyship was divested of
those natural feelings of humanity and decency
which every age and sex should cherish. Yet need
we wonder, if a woman can so far forget herself
and dignity to accompany a man to the sacred
altar who adores her to distraction, who relies
upon her faith and tenderness, and rests his future
hopes of happiness on her love, with the base de-
«sign of rendering him miserable ; and, not content
with injuring him in the nicest point, insults him
in public, instead of endeavouring to conceal her
aversion ? can we, I repeat, be surprised at any
thing we hear of her ? She has Disgraced herself
as a wife, and for ever bid adieu to fame.
, The dinner being ended, the ladies retired, and
the gentlemen were left more at liberty to indulge
themselves. But women, lovely women, being ab
sent, their party soon became dull, and upon the
suggestion of Lord Ellincourt, they joined the
ladies, who were admiring the delightful view
which presented itself to their enraptured sight,
from the noble Venetian window of the spacious
saloon to which they had retired. After admiring
it for some time, they adjourned to the drawing
room, and music, both vocal and instrumental,
began to engage the attention of the party.

Lady Mountmorris was requested to play a
tune, and accompany it with her voice. She im
mediately declined it, stating, as an excuse, that
her nerves were effected. " Do, my dear Char
lotte," said Lord Mountmorris, " oblige the com
pany with one tune ; I am sure your compliance

THE LITTLE MENDIGAXT. 419

will give them inexpressible satisfaction." " In
deed, my Lord, 1 am not well, and singing is a
great fatigue." He looked displeased and disap
pointed, though alas ! this circumstance was not
new, as she invariably thwarted his wishes. At
this moment, Sir Rich. Palmer rose up, and said,
" You cannot conceive, Madam, the distress into
which your refusal has thrown us all. My
Lord," turning to her husband, " you must per
suade her to yield to our entreaties." " Lady
Mountmorris must pursue her inclinations," said
his Lordship, gravely. Sir Richard, however,
would not let the subject drop, and at his repeated
solicitations the Lady consented to what she had
disdained when requested by others of the party.
This event was naturally calculated 'to inspire
Lord Mountmorris and the innocent Lady Pal
mer, with jealousy, though that was a passion they
never encouraged, but when errors so palpable are
committed in the presence of the injured, it is im
possible for them to be blind. The preference of
Lady Mountmorris to Sir Richard was already
obvious, though they had never met till this occa
sion, and the guilty pair were preparing to inflict
fresh daggers in the hearts of the most deserving
of their sex. Their behaviour was remarked by
every one ; and all, whose breasts were not steeled
to compassion, commiserated the amiable victims
of depraved libertinism. The day was spent in the
manner that has been described, and in the even
ing cards were introduced. Our wise philosopher
and the pious Dr. Woodward chose to converse
instead of joining in the games. Lord Ellincourt
played very deep, he had not yet conquered his
love of gambling^. The Duke of Albemarle took
one turn at chess, and then joined Sir Anthony.
He was no friend to play. Lady Mountmorris
asked Lady Palmer if she would play with her at
eribbage ; that Lady refused. She was labouring

420 FATHBHLESS FANNY ; OR,

under great mental uneasiness, and her attachment
to cards were not strong enough to afford any so
lace to her cares. Neither did the fanciful smile
of Lady Mountmorris, when putting the question,
weaken the indifferent opinion she had formed of
her goodness. t( I have a rival," inwardly sighed
she ; " this fascinating female has alienated the
slight remains of affection which my husband en
tertained for me. Oh, that he had riot been in
vited to this mansion." Lady Mountmorris, pre
tended to be chagrined, but in reality was rejoiced,
as it gave her an excuse for joining in a game with
Sir Richard, who gallantly made her the offer.
The brow of Lord Mountmorris was clouded ; he
•walked to the window to conceal his disorder.
At length, finding an opportunity of speaking pri
vately to the Dowager Lady Ellincourt, he un-
burthened his griefs to her in a few words — st Oh,
Madam," said he, " I am distracted ; 1 must sue
for a separation from Lady Mountmorris ; I can
not exist in the manner I do," and his eyes swam
with tears. " I pity you," said the Dowager
Lady Ellincourt, u truly pity you ; but how is it
possible for me to advise you. 1 plainly see how
you are circumstanced, and T must not express my
sentiments. I would comfort you if 1 could."
He grasped her hand, thanked her for her kind
ness, but still begged her to explain " what she
would do if she was situated as he was?" " I can
not tell," replied her Ladyship ; " it is difficult to
decide upon the question, but let me see you again
shortly, when I am free from intruders, and we will
talk upon the subject, though it is a painful one,
that I could wish might be forever banished. Oh,
Mountmorris, would that thou hadst never marri
ed." " Would so, indeed," he cried, " I had escaped
the worst of evils ; if I had not been ensnared by
beauty and a vain shew of accomplishments, I had
not been the miserable wretch you now behold me.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 421

but the deed is past, irrevocably past : the priest
hath joined our hands, and happiness and we are
for ever divided." Lady Ellincourt was much
affected at the solemnity of his countenance, and
the grief that was pourtrayed in every lineament
of his still handsome face ; the majesty of his air,
and dignity of his deportment, added to the im
pression his sufferings made in the breast of
Lady Ellincourt. She could only sympathise in
his affliction — only did I say, is it not the great
est consolation to a wounded heart that a fellow-
mortal participates in its sorrows. If we cannot
dispel the load of anxiety, we may at least soften
its heavy weight, and render it more supportable.
They now returned to the company, Lord Mount-
morris having promised to wait upon her Lady
ship the next morning. Some of the gentlemen
had retired to the billiard -room, but Sir Richard
was still playing at cribbage with Lady Mount-
. morris. " We must prepare to depart, Madam,"
said he, "the night is far advanced," casting a
stern glance at Sir Richard. " You are a hurry
ing creature," said her Ladyship. Perceiving Lady
Palmer, however, as if wishing to speak to her
husband, she arose and moved towards her Lord ;
u it is distressing," she resumed, u to leave these
worthy friends. I have been so happy here, that I
should like to become a resident at Pemberton
Abbey." Lord Ellincourt, who was at the far
ther end of the room, talking to the Duke of
Albemarle, overheard these words. " God for
bid she should be a resident here," whispered he,
" it would be hell instead of heaven to be com
pelled to live with her." Sir Richard answered,
" your departure, Madam, will be sensibly re
gretted by us all.'* Lord Mountmorris was
pressed to lengthen his stay, but he refused, and
he and his Lady departed ; the former with the
esteem and commiseration of the whole party ; the
18. 3 w

422 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

latter with united detestation. Sir Richard next
ordered his carriage to the door. Lady Palmer
and Mrs. Halmilton took a very pathetic leave ;
though upon so slender an acquaintance, they
seemed to own each other as kindred souls, and to
have contracted an indissoluble friendship. The
Duchess of Albemarle likewise felt the sincerest
compassion for this unfortunate lady, whom she
was fully convinced was miserable with Sir Rich
ard, The rest of the visitors soon dispersed,
and the peaceful inhabitants of Pemberton Abbey
were once more left to the quiet possession of
their beloved domain.

CHAPTER XLI1I.

Affecting Interview and Explanation of the
Hoax.

THE fatigue which Lady Ellincourt had sustained
throughout the day, made her impatient to retire
to rest; indeed, none of the family were accus
tomed to such late hours, it being past midnight
when Pemberton Abbey was restored to tranquil
lity. The next morning the conversation turned,
as may be imagined, on the various characters of
the late guests. They all joined in execrating that
of Sir Richard Palmer, and the worthless Lady
Mountmorris. The Duchess of Albemarle loudly
exclaimed against the conduct of the latter, giving
it as her opinion, that women who acted so, were
the seducers instead of the seduced. The Duke
acquiesced in the observation. Mr. Hamilton re
marked, "that the lady's face was not unknown to

THE LITTLJK MENDICANT. 423

him, he had seen her at public places while Miss
Rivers, and was sure she was reckoned a woman
of intrigue." "So young," exclaimed Lady Emily,
" and yet so artful." " Her youth and beauty,"
said Lord Ellincourt, " rendered her schemes
doubly certain of success. She wished not to re
trieve] her character, for that she knew was unat
tainable ; but she had too great a knowledge of
the world, not to foresee, that as Lady Mount-
morris, if she disgraced her husband and herself
twenty times a day, she would be caressed as the
most perfect of her sex. But as Miss Rivers, if
she made one deviation, her reputation was blasted
forever." " True, too true," answered the Duke,
"if a young female derogates in the least from
the paths of virtue, though ten thousand reasons
may be brought forward to extenuate her fault,
who is single, and perhaps unprotected, she is con
demned at once;, declared an abandoned creature,
and excluded from the society of the fashionable
— virtuous they term themselves ; but let her be a
married woman, and of consequence, hep frail
ties will be unheeded, and herself regarded as the
mirror of excellence. I know this to be a fact, as
I have lived a sufficient period to comment on the
manners of the great, and in my researches, 1 have
found daily occasion to confirm instead of altering
my opinion. Lady Mountmorris, I dare say, is re-
ceived every where with applause, and her errors,
are effaced, in the bright attractions of a lovely
exterior ; this proves that persons are valued ac
cording to their rank, not merit." il It does in
deed," replied the Dowager Lady E. u and I
will appeal to the truth of your assertions, as
circumstances, very similar in their nature to those
attendant on the case of Lady M. have come
under my own ocular demonstration. "She then
acquainted them with his Lordship's private con
versation with her, and the affliction that was pic-

424 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

tured in his expressive countenance. When she
mentioned his determination to gain a divorce —
" I hope," said the Duke, " he will embrace
that measure speed ily, if he delays, she will pro
bably have obtained a separation by a more dis
honorable method, and nis grief will then be
stronger — but if they part by consent, before she
inflicts further disgrace on herself and him,
though her dishonour will be equal, the shame
will rest less on his name, than if she eloped
while still with her husband." " I expect a
visit from Lord M. this morning," resumed her
Ladyship, " he has requested my advice, though
alas ! I am incapable of offering any — but I have
long known him, and he seems to derive a melan
choly satisfaction from being condoled with in
his misfortunes." Mrs. Hamilton spoke in high
terms of admiration of the amiable Lady Pal
mer, lamenting that she was not united to an ob
ject who would prize her worth as it deserved.
" I thought," observed the Duchess, " the mo
ment 1 beheld Sir Richard that he was a wretch,
his looks betokened the villain ; he is handsome,
and may be reckoned agreeable, but there is an
appearance of depravity in his air that rendered
him forbidding in my eyes at a single glance,
and when I perceived him inattentive and neg
ligent to his beautiful wife, I was then convinced
of what I had before suspected." " Her charms,"
said the Duke, " are of a very different nature
from Lady M's. the latter is, I dare say, called
the most attracting, because simplicity and inno
cence are no longer fashionable, but 1 think Lady
Palmer far the most desirable." A servant now
entered, to acquaint Lady Ellincourt that Lord
Mountmorris was arrived ; she immediately rose,
and descended to a small parlour, where his Lord
ship was waiting. When she entered, she was
struck with the deep dejection of his connte-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 425

nance, and the almost fearful wild ness of his
eyes ; he advanced to meet her, but seemed un
able to utter a word. She entreated him to sit
down, and endeavour to compose himself. —
" Compose," said he, at length, " yes, I hope I
shall soon be composed — they say that peace is
in the grave, and 1 am fast hastening thither."

O *

•l Perhaps peace may yet be reserved for you on
earth," replied Lady Ellincourt. He shook his
head. " Never, answered he, " tranquillity and
I have taken farewell," After a lapse of some
minutes, he proceeded — tc I come, Madam, to ask
your advice, yet fear that I may be unable to
take it. I have expostulated warmly with Lady
M. on the impropriety of her conduct, and have
insisted upon having an explanation of her beha
viour ; she refuses to assign any reason for her
indifference, but hints at the disparity of our
years. ' You had eyes, and chose me, Madam,'
I returned. * No, my Lord,' said she, ' I was
your choice ; but you are the last object I should
have selected, had 1 been left to my own free
will.' I started at this remark ; ( your own fpee
will !' I cried ; ' I do not understand you — you
was under no controul that ever 1 heard. Your
parents had long been consigned to the silent
tomb, and your fortune was independent of every
one, how therefore could you be constrained to
marry me ?' She looked confused and was silent.
I requested an answer. ' What means this lec
ture, my Lord ?' imperiously she exclaimed ; ' I
am sure if you repent your bargain, I do, as
heartily.' * I do indeed repent it,' said I ; ' for
your sake and my own — sincerely I repent it.*
f For my sake!' she contemptuously answered.
' Yes, Madam, for your sake ; our unhappy union
has been productive of wretchedness to us both.'
' Have I not been the best of wives ?' she con
tinued : ' is there any thing that your Lordship

426 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

can lay to 1113' charge?' As 1 did not instantly
reply, she went on. t As you, my Lord, have in
sisted upon an explanation of my conduct, I in
return must insist upon knowing of what I am
accused: I will never seek to justify myself till
acquainted with my fault.' * This candour,' said
I, * pleases me ; if you would hold an argument
upon subjects, we should have fewer disputes;
I will be equally generous with you. I do not
accuse you of faults but follies : I allow for the
little gaeties of youth — it is not to be supposed
that eighteen will conform to the caprices of fifty—
yet, where a man has loved with the passionate
ardour that I have — have did I say ? O Char
lotte ! I would love you still — where he has re
signed himself to your charms, and disdained
your sex for you alone, surely such an affection
demanded a return. - You must acknowledge
that your behaviour yesterday was imprudent to
a degree — you discovered no deference to my
opinions, you despised my attentions, and forgive
me if I declare, that your too visible partiality
for Sir Richard Palmer, excited jealousy in my
breast ; my apprehensions I hope were ground
less, but yourself gave rise to them.' 1 paused.
* Sir Richard Palmer !' said she, l a married
man — is it possible, my Lord, you can harbour
suspicions so injurious to his honor, and my re
putation ?' * His honor, Madam, has long been
forfeited — your's, I trust, will ever remain unsul
lied.' ' And yet you are trying to asperse it,'
she uttered, in a sarcastic tone. * No,' said I, 'I
am wishing to clear it from aspersion ; but the
world will make their comments, and I fear your
absurdity, to give it no harsher term, has exposed
you to its severest censure.' * I do not care, I
defy the tongue of slander ; 1 am justified in my
own eyes, and it is of little consequence what the
uorld dares to think or say of me,' This arro-

THE UTTLfc MENDICANT. 427

gance increased my ire to an amazing height ;
t confess I never was so enraged before — but con
sider, dear Madam, the provocation I received,
and whether it was in the nature of man to pre
serve his temper amidst such degrading treat
ment," " 1 am only surprised," said Lady Ellin-
court, " that you preserved it so long." He re
sumed — " I started up, inflamed with anger, and
exclaiming, f it is well, Madam, I shall now take
the necessary measures ;' and was about to leave
the room, but she prevented me. ' Stay, my Lord,'
she said, 'you are too hasty.' 'Of what avail
is it,' answered I, ' for me to stay ; you are in
different as to my estimation, and regardless of
your fame, therefore it is requisite, for the hap
piness of both parties, that a separation should
immediately take place.' She looked amazed.
' Why this perplexity,' said I, ' you neither
love nor esteem me : I would not desire the former
sentiment unaccompanied by the latter; for
which reason, as you have rendered yourself un
worthy of my esteem, I must for ever cease to
love you ; I shall always pray for your felicity,
but from this day, we are disunited.' She seemed
a little affected — I had never seen her evince any
appearance of feeling till this moment — it almost
unmanned my resolution ; but recovering my
self, I was again retiring from the apartment,
when turning my head, I perceived she was as
pale as death, and as if fainting ; so moving a
sight quickly disarmed my resentment — I flew to
her, took her hand, and, placing her in a chair,
held volatile liniments to her nose — she was ap
parently insensible of my solicitude. I called her
by the most endearing appellations : at length, she
pretended to revive — I say pretended, Madam, as
you will presently be informed of the deception
she had practised. She cast her languid eyes
upon me. ' I thought you had forsaken me,'

428 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

said she. * And would it give you concern ?' I
cried. She answered in the affirmative. 1 cannot
describe the contending passions that assailed my
breast at this declaration ; 1 pressed her hand to
my lips, and vowed that she was still most dear
to my soul. ' Oh, Mountmorris,' she sighed, ' I
own that I have done wrong, that I am very, very
reprehensible.' I caught the delightful sounds,
and, enraptured, clasped her to my bosom, pro
nouncing her the joy and solace of my future
life. This moment was to me one of the happiest
1 had ever experienced : I felt a renewal of the
sweet sensations that had occupied my heart on
the day that yielded her to my arms ; but tran
sitory was the bliss — her perfidy was discovered
by a most singular circumstance. A little box,
which in her alarm she had neglected properly
to secure, dropped from her person, and revealed
to me her base dissimulation; its contents were
white paint, a small portion of which she had
dexterously spread upon her cheeks, which en
tirely faded her complexion, and gave her a most
death-like aspect ; she had easily contrived to
adopt this expedient to excite my commiseration,
•when I had rose, intending to quit the room, and
she then affected to swoon away, as already stated.
At this proof of her deception, I could not con
tain my fury within any bounds, save those of
personal vengeance. 1 did not attempt any in
jury to her, but, withdrawing her from my fond
embrace, 1 vehemently protested, that she was the
vilest of her sex, and that I must have been a
madman to have been duped by her insidious
wiles — and, without waiting for a reply, I darted
from the apartment and the house, when I in
stantly hastened hither, to communicate my sor
rows to your Ladyship, and consult with you how
1 ought to proceed/'

Lord Mountmorris here stopped, and a flood of

TUB LITTLE MENDICANT. 429

tears came to his relief. Lady Ellincourt did not
interrupt them, she was sensible that their influ
ence Mas most salutary to a mind opprest as his.
He wept a considerable time, and then raising his
despondent eyes to those of her ladyship, im
plored her to direct him how to act. " My dear
friend, "mournfully replied she, " to abide by my
directions were, perhaps, to be farther rendered
miserable. I, a weak woman, am inadequate to
the task of offering advice ; yet as you so earnestly
request my opinion, I will give that, without pre
suming to advise. I hope, for your sake, that the
honour of Lady M. has not yet been sacrificed, but
1 fear that she is determined on destruction,
and will shortly become the victim of dissipation.
Would you be separated from her in a legal way,
you will immediately pursue the necessary me
thods for that purpose; yet be not swayed by
any thin<* I say. I have esteemed you, Mount-
morris, wnen in prosperity, I doubly respect you
in adversity, and grieved am 1 that you should
have made so unworthy a choice ; but alas, it is
difficult to discern the merits of one, whom we
design as a partner through life. During the pe
riod of courtship, both men and women conceal
their evil propensities, and if they have any vir
tuous ones display them, if not, they falsely as
sume the appearance of some, and if they have any
skill at all, they find it but too easy to deceive their
vassalled slaves, till at last the noose is drawn, the
veil is thrown aside, and too often repentance
treads close upon the heels of matrimony." "You
have read the book of the world, Madam," said
his lordship, " your sentiments are too just. I
have proved it in myself. I had not been united
two days before I had reason to repent, though I
was a victim to such beauty, that it was long be
fore I could persuade myself I could be other
wise than happy with a creature so divinely fair.
No. 19. 3 i

430 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

But oh ! mistaken wretch that I was, to imagine
that external qualifications could constitute the
felicity of mortals when unallied- to goodness.
Her charms, blooming as they were, soon lost
their power of pleasing. She sought not to please.
Wrapt up in fatal security, she blindly fancied
that the heart which had once been her's, must
ever remain in her possession, let her conduct be
what it would. She was not deceived in thinking I
loved her, Madam ; I did, with an ardour almost
unequalled ; I believed her the peerless daughter
of the graces ; and when I pressed my suit, so
far from stating an objection to my years, she
seemed not to consider it as one, but to surrender
me her affections entire ; it is the more cruel
therefore to allude to that circumstance now. She
has nearly alienated every particle of that tender
ness which once reigned in this constant heart —
I will not say utterly, as the recent proof I have
given, of a remains of attachment, evinces that
I have not wholly conquered my former love, but
I will endeavour to banish past impressions, and,
with them, the object who occasioned them. 1
will return to Lady M. and strive to gain her
consent to a lawful divorce. I do not wish to
dispute with her, nor to cause her any uneasiness ;
her fortune is ample, it is hers, and I shall settle
an additional annuity upon her. I value not
money, it is empty and imaginary good, its
attainments are superficial, as are also those of
beauty; and when the mind is lost, all other acqui
sitions might as well be forfeited." After some
farther conversation, Lord Mountmorris departed,
having determined with Lady Ellincourt, to com
mence a judicial process, respecting the affair in
question. " If Lady M. refuses her compliance,
I must proceed without obtaining it," said he,
" but 1 would rather she would give her sanction
to the measure." She begged to hear from him

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 431

shortly, and with a melancholy mien he took his
leave.

When Lady Ellincourt returned to the apart
ment where she had left the family, she found
her son laughing immoderately. " My risibility,
Madam," said he, " arises, not from the suffer
ings of your friend, whose case we all deplore,
but from an explication of a very curious riddlej
that has proved such a puzzle to your ladyship,
in fact, to all but the worthy authors of it."
Lady Ellincourt looked at his lordship, and at
the rest in amazement. " Here is the cause of
our unwonted mirth," said he, presenting her with
the newspaper. The reader will, perhaps, guess
at the meaning of all this. It will be recollected
that Miss Bridewell expressed her resolution to
discover who had made her the object of their
sport, and she communicated.her design to several
of her friends. Some of them dissuaded her from
her purpose, saying they thought it would be use
less to attempt any thing of the kind ; others, ad
vised her to pursue it ; the latter plan was most
consonant to her inclinations. She accordingly
addressed a letter to the editor of the paper in
which the advertisement appeared, stating the cir
cumstances, enclosing the advertisement that had
occasioned her so much consternation, which she
had copied and printed, and likewise another of
her own composing, requesting to be acquainted
with the author of the former, and offering fifty
guineas reward to whoever could give the infor
mation she required. Here was a development
at once of the mischievous frolic that had been
played by Lord Ellincourt. " 1 suspected you,"
said the Duke, " from the first, I knew you was
an arch rogue, and that you had an unconquer
able aversion to the old gipsey, however, she has
thrown away time and expense by this advertise
ment, as she will not be a wit the wiser for it."

432 FATHEKLESS FANNY ; OH,

" No," said Lord Ellincourt, " I am sure nobody
can claim the fifty guineas, as the matter is a
secret to all but ourselves," and here ended the
joke.

The Dowager Lady Ellincourt now entered
upon the1 subject of her discourse with Lord
Mountmorris, and brought tears into the eyes of
all present, by her description of his sorrows, and
the remorseless conduct of his tyrannical lady.
" It is well she is not my wife," cried Lord Ellin-
court ; by heavens she would soon repent of her
tyranny if she displayed it to me." " Take
care how you behave, Lady Ellincourt," said the
Duke of Albemarle, " you see you have not the
tamest of mortals to deal with." "When I act
like Lady M." said Emily, smiling, " I shall not
expect to meet tameness. I think it is astonish
ing that he can have borne with her for six months,
though that to speak of is a short period, it is a
great while to be made miserable." " It is indeed,"
replied the Dowager Lady Ellincourt, " but I be
lieve he, is determined to endure it no longer, he
seems fixed in his resolution of obtaining a sepa
ration, and ^that speedily." This resolve receiving
the universal applause of every individual, the
parties shortly retired from the breakfast room to
perform their usual avocations.

CHAPTER XLIV.

Acts of Charity— Return to Darby House —
Arrival of Company, and lively discourse.

THE remainder of the week passed on without any
thing of importance occurring, and early in the

THE UTTLE MENDICANT. 433

following one, the Duke and Duchess took leave
of dear Pemberton Abbey and its beloved inha
bitants. The parting between our heroine and
her amiable mother was very affecting. The Ellin-
courts would have persuaded them to continue
longer in their society, but they were desirous of
returning; to Darby House, Hampshire, where their
presence was anxiously expected by the surround
ing gentry. They did not, however, depart without
receiving the blessings of the neighbouring poor,
to whom they displayed many acts of generosity.
The Duchess made it the greater part of her morn
ing's employ to seek into the distresses of the hap
less indigent, and the affability with which she lis
tened to the sad' story of their woes, and immedi
ately presented them like a beneficent angel, with
the assistance they required, derived her the love
and esteem of every virtuous heart. The Duke
turned his head to the establishment of Public In
stitutions, but not like some other persons in a yet
higher sphere than the Duke of Albemarle, who
grant their patronage to the support of national
charities for the sake of a name, when a private
petition would be rejected with scorn; he promoted
the welfare of every individual, and never turned a
deaf ear to the voice of complaint. As soon as he
got back to his country seat, he erected an asylum
for the aged, and those who were infirm ; when one
of this description applied for relief to him, 4hey
were dismissed with a guinea, and informed, that
there they would find a refuge if they were willing
to go in ; how readily and how gratefully they
embraced this offer may be imagined. It is here
also necessary to observe, that Lord Ellincourt did
many benevolent actions ; he was the founder of a
building for orphan children, and likewise for de
cayed tradesmen, who had been reduced by mis
fortunes to a state of penury ; he was universally

434 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

respected and adored, and he was rewarded for
the numerous estimable qualities he possessed by
every signal favor that Heaven could bestow. To
add to his felicity, his lady's appearance was such
as to betoken the day not far distant, when to the
duties of wife that of a mother would be added, an
event that contributed to the happiness of both
parties. Our lovely Fanny was in the same hope
ful situation ; both looked forward to the prospect
of future heirs with inexpressible delight. The
Duke and Duchess had been settled about two
days in their favourite retreat, when their lively
friend Lady Mornington and her husband arrived,
to pay their promised visit ; the meeting between
the amiable Amelia and her Grace was tender and
affectionate — they warmly embraced each other,
and a series of congratulations took place. Sir
Everard complimented the Duke on his nuptials,
and his Grace in return wished him joy with the fair
creature he had selected for his bride. "I thank
you heartily," said Sir Everard, " and glad am I to
my soul that you rejected one another, as I should
have lost an incomparable prize." " I always ad
mired Miss Stanhope," answered the Duke, " and
doubtless had not my affections been engaged to
Fanny, she would have secured the victory, but
for a great while, as you know, I was induced to
believe that my beloved was actually Miss Stan
hope." " Yes," replied Sir Everard, smiling, "my
Amelia acted her part bravely, she is versed in1
dissimulation ; I shall always glory in her art
however, as to it I am indebted for the possession
of the most invaluable of treasures. Lady Morn
ington meanwhile gave the Duchess an account of
what she had seen in London, and how much she
had lamented that she was not present to behold
them. " I have witnessed enough of them, my
dear," answered Fanny, " and do not in the least

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 435

regret my absence from riot and noise." "You
are of a happy disposition," said Amelia, " and I
have at periods thought that I was, but I fear I
should soon grow melancholy if I was to live en
tirely out of the world, having been always accus
tomed to gay assemblages. When I pass an anti
quated abbey or church, rendered desolate by
the impairing hand of time, a sensation of awe
seems to thrill through my bosom. Were I to in
dulge my feelings on such occasions, I should be as
spiritless as one of the marble statues they con
tain. I fly with avidity from such places, and has
ten to scenes more congenial to my nature ; but
yodr gravity, I warrant, could endure the idea of
spending two or three hours in such solitary spots,
and yet be free from the vapours." " It could en
dure not merely the idea, but the act," replied
Fanny." " I prefer surveying the monuments in
Westminster Abbey, to seeing all the plays in
England." " What a barbarous taste," cried her
friend, " I protest I never heard one of your sex
and age make such a declaration before." " Pos
sibly not my dear, yet 1 can assure you it is the
simple truth." "Well," said Lady Mornington,i
" when 1 propose to write a tragedy, I will take
example by our wise Shakspearian bard, who
made a point of walking in the dreary cloisters,
that his mind might be turned to horrors rare. At
present I have no such intention. We have nearly
completed the work I informed you we were em
ployed in, and before we send it to the press, you
shall enjoy the gratification of perusing it. I long
for your opinion on its merits." Amelia was only in
jest, as she had never designed to write such a book
as she had described, though her imagination was
sufficiently exuberant to have furnished her with
ample powers for the accomplishment of her un
dertaking ; but her sportive fancy, and copious
flow of wit, enabled her to play off upon some of

436 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

her acquaintances without being detected. Not
so with the Duchess of Albemarle ; she quickly
penetrated the veil the little hypocrite wore, and
affected not to be deceived. " I really thought,"
said she, " from your last letter, that you was be
coming a rational creature." " Lord bless you !"
exclaimed Amelia, " did you suppose! could be
completely rational all in a minute? no, no,l shall
grow so by degrees to be sure. Such sudden tran
sitions would inevitably destroy my health." Our
heroine smiled. She was irresistibly charmed
with the conversation of this sprightly female,
though sometimes her Mightiness seemed carried,
in her opinion, too far ; yet there was such an in
nate goodness blended with her youthful eccen
tricities, that it was impossible to help loving and
esteeming her. (t Oh, I know we shall not be
dull here," continued her ladyship, " this man-
.sion, though it is situated in the country, is exqui
sitely beautiful, and the gardens are delightfully
pleasant. I expect great satisfaction from prome
nading them." The Duchess now led her friend
into the different apartments, and strove to divert
"her by introducing all her curiosities to her notice,
She was in raptures with every thing shejsaw, and
complimented the taste of the inhabitants of Darby
House in terms of the highest warmth. The library
in particular engaged her attention ; the order in
which' the books were arranged set them off to
inimitable advantage ; they were placed metho
dically in rows. The works of sublime and sen
timental authors composed the greatest part. His
tory, ancient, modern and natural, were widely
diffused through the whole. A few select novels,
and some of the best plays, made up the collec
tion. Lady Mornington was extremely fond of
reading, though her immoderate desire of rambling
had prevented her from resigning herself to so
sweet an enjoyment long enough to enter fully into

Tiifc titTLfe MENDICANT. 43t

die spirit of the writers she perused: She had
hitherto only skimmed first into one volume, and
then into another ; biit she intended, when tired of
seeing1 the same thing over again, which she ac
knowledged might one day be the case, to give
her mind to nobler attainments* " I shall begin
the laborious task while I am with you," said she,
" and then I shall be able to judge whether T
could pursue it." " You will not find it so diffi
cult as you imagine,! trust," returned Fanny> "you
have a natural love for learning, and you will
find here a choice variety that will both amuse and
improve." Amelia took hold of one, on the back
of which was beautifully lettered, " Tasso's Jeru
salem." " It would tempt one to read your
books, Fanny, to look at these elegant bindings."
"The inside of that valuable work is more precious
than its binding," said the Duchess, with unwonted
energy of expression. " I have only scanned a page
here and there," answered Amelia, " and I think
the language very fine ; but what have women to do
with war? Peace is the female province." "True,"
said Lady Albemarle, " yet women may like to
hear of what they have no concern in. For my
part, I could pore over the beauties of this divine
author, till the gates of my eyes closed with laiv-
g-our Or fatigue, its fiction is so gloriously ener-

11 T 1

getic, and every line breathes harmony. I have
seldom participated in the pleasures of metrical
composition to so high a degree as when medi
tating on the perfections of this god-like book."
*' Your praises," said Lady Mornington, " have
inspired me with a curiosity to go through the
whole. I think I shall indulge it. Recollect I
am at home here — I shall not consider myself a
Visitor under the roof with my Fanny." " I should
be very sorry if you did," interrupted the Duchess,
" I detest formality, and from Lady Mornington it
would be insufferable." " Sir Everard is no formalist
19. 3 K

43H FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

I can assure you," cried Amelia, " he holds with t\ie
observation of the celebrated Lord Chesterfield,
who affirms, ' that true and dignified politeness is
ease and freedom." What is generally called by
that name, is merely an affectation of the term.
He was an advocate for the graces, and no man
ever practised them more strenuously ; but as to
a parcel of constrained airs, such as were and are
adopted by most of those who are denominated
the fashionable world, he was a professed enemy
to them, and Sir Everard admires all he says.
Now I do not tell you," she continued, with an
arch smile, " that the poor man is capable of
copying the manners of Lord Chesterfield ; but I
think if he could acquire the task, it would be the
utmost height of his ambition. He reveres his cha
racter, and respects hjs principles ; but his under
standing " " Hush, my dear Amelia," hastily

exclaimed the Duchess, "I will not hear you ridi
cule your husband." "Pshaw," said Amelia, "you
know I am only in fun 5 I would die to promote
the happiness of Sir Everard ; but I must have my
joke, like Mr. Pope, though I lose my friend."
" You have mentioned a very comfortable way to
promote his happiness," answered Fanny, " you
had better have reversed it, and said, you would
live for ever with that intent." " Oh, I hope I shall
not survive Sir Everard ; I could not bear to be a
widow." " We must all bear what the Almighty
pleases to inflict," said Fanny, "and that with
resignation. However, I trust you will both long
be spared, to make each other happy." The fer
vour with which these words were uttered, brought
tea,rs into the eyes of the susceptible Amelia. Her
feelings, were strong ; and persons who are natu-
rjvUy of a lively, spirited disposition, are generally
endued with finer, quicker feelings than those of
a calm, uniform temper. The former are soon
elated, and as soon discouraged; but they never

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 439

yield to despair. They act according to the in
fluence of the moment, and experience either the
extremes of bliss or wretchedness. When reflec
tion come? to their aid, their native sense directs
them to moderate these extravagant sallies, and
they commonly succeed : but the latter, who are
perfectly luke-warm, live and die without partak
ing of the pleasures that attend either love or
friendship ; they are seldom overjoyed with the
gifts of Fortune, but too often suffer their spirits
to be totally depressed. When the fickle goddess
disdains to smile upon them, the former may
be violent, but soon the storm of grief blows over,
and hope begins to dawn : the latter encourage
not the bright sensation, but give themselves up
to a fatal despondency, and are very frequently
the people who are urged by their melancholy
habit, to a deed of desperation. The reason is
obvious. They ruminate on nothing but the
dark side of the picture, and refuse the consola
tions that religion would afford. Rarely do we
hear of a person committing suicide whose pas
sions were strong and ardent. It is those who
ponder on their misfortunes, and forget there is &
merciful God that can deliver them from affliction,
who resolve to abandon themselves to the power
of satanic darkness.

To return to our subject. Amelia, the gay
Amelia, kissed and wept upon the bosom of ner
friend, "lhave feeling," she said, "and thdtt
hast awakened it." At this moment the door
.opened, and the Duke and Sir Eterard entered ;
the latter, seeiftg his wife in tears, rushed to her,
and tenderly inquired the cause. She ingenuously
explained the conversation that had passed, pre
paratory to the words of the Duchess, that had
caused the emotion he beheld. " Amen to her
sweei prtiyer," cried he, in raptures ; " and do you
weep, Amelia, because her Grace iropltfred the

440 FATHLKLESS FANNk ; OH,

Divine goodness to bestow long life and happiness
upon us ?" H No," answered Lady Mornington,
affectionately embracing Sir Everard, u my tears
are those of joy." " Nought else shall here be
shed," exclaimed the Duke, " for peace doth
reign within these walls." He then saluted his
lovely Fanny. " I have been shewing Sir Everard,
my dear, all the grounds, and he is wonderfully
pleased with the picturesque prospect." " And
I have been diverting Amelia, by taking her all
over the house I believe. The library, however,
seems to have fixed her attention. I have done
wrong to bring her here, for now we shall have
less of her company." " Oh no, indeed you are
mistaken," said the sprightly dame, " I shall only
take the liberty of reading at those times when
you are employed in the affairs of your family ; as
to Sir Everard, he regularly shoots for a couple
of hours every morning, and when I am not dis-t
posed to attend him, you will permit me to amuse
myself here." " Is your Grace fond of shooting ?"
asked Sir Everard. " No," he replied, " it is a
sport I have always thought cruel, and therefore
never participated in." Sir Everard looked dis
appointed. "I would do any thing to oblige you,
my dear friend," continued the Duke, save re
belling against my conscience— I can never be
reconciled to the destruction of what is the work
of an Almighty hand ; his righteous fiat created
every thin^ that is created, and he alone is em
powered to destroy," Sir Everard did not, with
many others, spurn at religion, and despise its
professors ; though he adhered to the pleasures
of the age, his character was not tainted by any
odious vice. He listened to the argument held by
the Duke, and acknowledged the justice of it, but
could not consent to lay aside his favourite pas
time. " What is a crime in one man," said he, "is
in another ; with your present sentiments

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 441

uj»on it you would be very reprehensible were
you to be prevailed on to engage in it. 1 may
upon reflection become a convert to your opinion,
but hitherto I have considered shooting as an inno
cent entertainment. The fault lies in persisting
in what our own heart dictates to us is wrong.'1
" Your observation is good," answered the Duke,
" and proves you not 8 stranger to theory." The
conversation here closed. Sir Everard went out
on his usual excursion, and his Lady sat down
to peruse some of the works that were so highly
recommended to her notice. The Duke had a
little business abroad, and the Duchess, as her
•friend was so well employed, took her customary
round to visit her sick an<J distressed neighbours.

CHAPTER XLV.

n Adventure — True Benevolence evinced in the
issue o
on experence,

—

of it, and Reflections on Goodness, proving
perience, Charity to be its own JKeward.

As she was returning from her charitable ramble,
her steps were arrested by sounds of distress.
She listened, they seemed to proceed from a child;
she turned towards the spot, and presently per
ceived a little girl about ten years of age, sitting
on a step, weeping in the bitterness of mental an-

fuish; she humanely advanced, and regarding the
apless innocent with an expression of kind com
miseration, requested to be informed the nature
of her grief. " Oh Madam," said the poor girl,

442 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

looking in the face of the Duchess, " deep indeed
is the measure of my woe." "Speak, oh speak,"
cried our heroine, impatiently, " reveal to me
your sorrows, and if human assistance can avail,
they shall be relieved." She then delivered the
following artless tale. " My mother, Madam,
resides in yonder cottage," pointing to a small
thatched hut at a little distance; "my father was
a shoemaker, but unhappily meeting with losses
in his business, he became a bankrupt. He was
an honest man," continued she, " and would have
paid if he could, but he was inevitably ruined,
every thing went to wreck, and all his dependance
was upon a gentleman who had known him in
better days, and felt for his misfortunes. With
a yearly allowance from this generous man, he
retired with my dear mother and myself, who was
their only surviving child, to the cottage you now
behold. We could exist, though scantily, and for
a great while my father, who. had been respected
for his integrity of principle, obtained a little em
ployment now and then, which helped us : but at
last he fell sick — this was an additional calamity.
To add to our distress, our quarter's payment was
due, and it came not at the usual time ; we were
fearful of offending our benefactor by noticing
the delay, yet, under such circumstances, what
could we do? My mother in our agony of mind,
wrote a few lines, briefly explaining my father's
illness, and the affliction we were all in, humbly,
entreating his pardon for the liberty she took, and
begged to hear from him speedily. Soon, too
soon she received an answer, but not from him
self, our amiable protector and friend was no more.
His brother, oh! how different a character, wrote
in the most inhuman manner, acquainting us that
the folly and extravagance of his relation had
long been gradually reducing him to a state of
beggary, and that in a fit of despair he had shot

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 413

himself. * Think not,' continued the unfeeling
wretch, c that I will add another fool to the num
ber of my unfortunate family. My brother owed
his ruin to his ridiculous liberality, I owe my pros
perity to my love of parsimony; I can,*there~
fore, do nothing in your case, and I insist upon
never being teized by the objects of my deceased
relative's bounty.' I cannot describe, Madam, the
agonizing grief that pierced our souls at this
dreadful information ; my father in a dying state,
and destitute of every necessary, his end was ac
celerated by the awful tidings ; he expired in two
days after it arrived, imploring heaven to preserve
his wife and child. Alas! what is farther to beta!
us, t know not. We expect a jail to be our fate.
We have been punctual in our payments to the
landlord till the last quarter, when we had it not
to pay ; he is inexorable, and declares that he
shall seize immediately ; my father must be
buried by the parish, and that is hard, but God
rest his soul, he is as happy as if interred with
funeral pomp — it 'is my mother I am grieved for
now, his trials are I hope at an end, but she has yet
to suffer." Agathor, that was the little girl's name,
paused. The Duchess was charmed with the sim
plicity of her language, and moved to tears by
her pathetic story. " Conduct me to your mother,
my dear," said she, " I will alleviate her sorrows
if it is possible." She instantly led the way, and
her countenance brightened up with a ray of hope.
When they entered the miserable hovel, the poor
woman was sitting by a rough oak table, her face
bathed in tears, and looking the melancholy image
of despondency. On perceiving her daughter ac
companied by a lady of such extraordinary beauty
and elegant appearance, she started in astonish
ment from her seat. " Do not be alarmed, my
good woman," said the Duchess, in a tone of
gentleness, peculiar to herself, " I have heard from

444 FATHERLESS FANNY;

this innocent the calamities you endure, and it iftj
I trust, in my power to soften their heavy weight £
here is a trifle for the present," presenting her with
ten guineas, " in the course of the day, I will
do more for you." The grateful creature over
powered with her feelings, was £oing to throw
herself at the feet of her benefactress, but she
prevented her. " View me," said she, " I am a
woman, created in the same mould with yourself;
because Providence has made me rich, shall I ex
act submissions such as these. No, it is a duty
incumbent upon mortals to assist each other, and
I rejoice that the goodness of the Eternal has di
rected me to this abode of wretchedness: cheer
up, my friend, confide in the Divine mercy, and
your reward will be everlasting." " Oh may God
of heaven bless you," sobbed Mrs. Pierce, courtesy-
ing respectfully, " the prayers of the poor will
ever be offered up for your eternal welfare ; but,
dear and noble lady, let me know to whom 1 am
indebted for this support." " I am the Duchesn
of Albemarle," modestly replied her Grace. This
intelligence created no amazement, as her air
and dignified deportment were sufficient indica
tions of her quality. " You have saved my poor
child and myself from perishing by famine," cried
she, " and I would thank you if I could, but I
have no words to express my sentiments of gra
titude." " You have already sufficiently express
ed them," she returned, " I have only done what
we all should do, and 1 desire you will consider
me, not as the Duchess of Albemarle, but as a
friend, who sincerely compassionates your woes."
Mrs. Pierce could only say, " Heaven bless
your Grace." And the Duchess, as she depart
ed, kissed her hand to the object of her mild
beneficence; thus did the manner of her confer-
ing an obligation enhance its value. She re
turned to Darby House, contemplating on the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 445

scene of affliction she had witnessed, and medi
tating on the graciousness of that God who had
endued her with a heart to pity, and the power to
relieve distress. Sir Everard and the Duke were
examining some admirable portraits, in an apart
ment set aside for paintings, and particular curi
osities. Lady Mornington was still in the library ;
as soon as she heard the voice of her friend, she
hastened to meet her. " My dear Fanny," said
she, " 1 am quite in raptures with your favourite
Tasso. I never perused him with attention before,
or I could not fail to have been charmed ; he has
inspired me with the true spirit of poetry. But
you have been crying, what is the matter, my love?"
The Duchess recounted to her the adventures she
Had met with, and Amelia, the tender hearted
Amelia, ever ready to administer to the wants of
the sufferer, instantly pulled out her purse, from
which she took forty guineas, saying, i( she was
sure Sir Everard would contribute farther to the
assistance of the poor woman." As the gentle
men were engaged, they walked into the gardens,
and there admired the beauteous face of nature.
Amelia was delighted with the choice assortment
of flowers that ornamented the beautiful paths,
and as she surveyed the long majestic groves of
trees, which formed a lovely avenue to the house,
she acknowledged that felicity might be found in
verdant plains and rural bowers. " This retreat,"
said she, entering an arbour, whose closing shade
was an invitation to repose within, " is surely the
habitation of the muses ; it cannot be the work
of terpestial beings. The voice of nature speaks
throughout the whole, and says, I created thee."
Fanny, in astonishment, exclaimed, "and is it
possible that the charms of this sweet delusion
can at once have made so deep an impression on.
your mind. "It is both possible and probable,"
returned Lady Mornington; "I can assure you,
19 3 L

446 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

that in my present frame, and I do not think it
will materially alter, I could be content to live for
ever in glorious solitude, and ne'er behold the
face of London more." " Scarcely can I credit
what I here you yourself declare," answered the
Duchess, " as three hours have not yet performed
their revolution since you avowed your dislike to
the country, and professed your admiration of the
town." "True," replied the fair one. "but hasty
impressions prove oftener more indelible than those
contracted on reflection and by experience ; this
may appear a syllogism to you, yet it is just. 1
am not merely alluding to the present topic of
our discourse, though there it will hold good ;
but in affairs where the heart is concerned, as
love or friendship, I could convince you that the
first influence of those passions on our souls will
ever in a degree, reign predominant. We may,
for prudent reasons endeavour to restrain its as
cendancy, but it will be difficult to efface its over
powering heat. When I first saw Sir Everard
Mornington, I felt sensations I cannot describe;
I did not then know that they were the origin of
a tender, passion, but they increased, even with
thinking of him, and when he revealed the nature
of his sentiments in my favor, the pleasure with
which I listened to the soft tale was a sufficient
evidence that 1 loved. Yes, my Fanny, I loved
Sir Everard, and perhaps 1 was not so backward
in declaring it as some prudish things of my sex.
I have no notion of women concealing their pre~
deliction till the last moment, but indeed they
could not if their feelings were as strong as mine;
if they really dislike their suitor, let them dismiss
him at once ; if not, why such affectation and
nonsensical caprice." " I must allow the force of
your arguments," said the Duchess, " and per
haps strengthen them by what I am going to
advance. At my first introduction to the Duke

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 417

of Albemarle, if I had not imagined him the in
tended husband of my friend, I should probably
have been smitten with the fascinations of his per
son and address; but that consideration, together
with the supposition that 1 was his inferior in
rank, made me on my guard against admitting
sentiments that would be injurious to my honor
and happiness. I saw his meritj and was sur
prised that you should be indifferent to such per
fections. Had I known your heart had been en
gaged, I should no longer have wondered at your
obstinacy."

"The Duke certainly possessed every claim to
my esteem," answered Lady Mornington, " but
love I was a stranger to till Sir Everard secured
the victory. He was the great, the mighty con
queror, that was to reign triumphant o'er this
heart." " And there may he ever reign," cried
Fanny, " as firmly as the Duke does here." " I
hope he will," replied Amelia : '* they are both
deserving of our tenderest affections ; and happy,
happy are the unions founded on motives such as
ours." Having here concluded their observations,
and walked once more round the gardens, they
entered the house. The Duke and Sir Everard
were in the parlour, waiting their approach.
" You will be sorry, Sir Everard," said Amelia,
"that you have brought me here, for I shall now
be as solicitous to go down to your country seat,
as I have hitherto Seen desirous of remaining in
London. I am in absolute ecstacies with this
mansion, and yet more so with the gardens that
surround it." " You are altered, indeed, my dear,"
smilingly answered Sir Everard, " but what will
you say when I affirm that I am as much so. I
have acquired as strong a distaste for busy life as
I before was prejudiced in favor of it: and what
is still more astonishing, T have resolved to relin
quish the pleasures of shooting and the chase. 1

44$ FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

have taken my leave of them to day. You
well look surprised, but I assure you it is the
truth. I have killed one brace of pheasants this
morning, though I must own, not without reluc
tance ; and 1 have since pondered on ihe words
of the Duke, till I am nearly of his opinion. Do
not, therefore, my beloved, regret our coming here,
as it has wrought so happy a change in us both."
"I do not regret it, indeed," answered Amelia,
6C 1 was only tearful that you would." She then
mentioned the event of the morning, and the sum
she designed to contribute to the relief of the
opprest female. He warmly applauded her inten
tion, and he and the Duke added another fifty
pounds, making, in all, a hundred. This they in
stantly dispatched by a servant, the Duchess
sending a message, that she would visit her cot
tage the next day. When he came back, he gave
such an account of the grateful joy with which
the poor soul was overwhelmed, as quite pene
trated the bosoms of her amiable benefactors.
During dinner, the conversation was principally
on the subject. They all concurred in declaring
and believing, that charity was iis own reward.
" There cannot be a clearer proof of this last as
sertion," argued the Duke, "than the blissful sen
sations which the performance of a benevolent
action causes to arise in the human breast. Every
heart that is really invested with the feelings of
humanity, must have tasted these pleasurable
emotions. It is not the ostentatious satisfaction
of being loaded with thanks, that 1 mean. No, it
is the internal approbation of the soul, that is
higher, and far more exquisitely gratifying than
all the encomiums that can be heaped upon us ;
and those alone can experience it, who do good,
not because they have the pattern of it in another,
but, taking example by our sacred Redeemer, act
agreeably to the dictates of a pure and unconta-*

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 44U

minated conscience. When this is the case, that
ever powerful monitor fails not to inform us ; and
it is likewise pleasing to behold the heart-felt joy
of the individuals we snatch from ruin's epeedy
brink. To have the blessings of the virtuous
poor is far more to be coveted than the false ca
resses of the rich, who only praise us for too nearly
resembling themselves." " True, indeed," an
swered Sir Everard, " and never did I listen to
a moral discourse with such deep interest as I do
to your's. Your language is consistent with the
rules of reason ; and reason is a being that seems
discarded from the minds of the generality of the
world." " Reason is not required at the card-
table," said Lady Mornington, " and that is the
fashionable resort now for both sexes." u I am
amazed," replied the Duchess, "that people can
be so infatuated with a love of play. For my
part, I think it a dull, unmeaning amusement; and
instead of beguiling an hour, serves to render it
more tedious." u I like a game very well, by
chance," answered Amelia, " but I should be sorry
to devote half my time to it, as many do, who des
pise nobler employments. The folly consists, in
my opinion, in the abuse of them, more than in
the cards themselves." " Your ideas correspond
with mine, Madam," said the Duke. " There are
many things that are harmless in themselves,
which are rendered criminal by being subverted
to evil purposes. Novels, for instance, are a kind
of reading; universally in vogue, and Ihavenothing
to offer against them. Numbers of them abound
in morality, and contain sentiments worthy to be
imbibed ; yet I believe, I may safely assert, that
they have corrupted the morals of more than they
have improved. The reason may be easily con
jectured. The fault is not in the author, but in
the peruser. If people are determined to reject
every thing else, and spend whole days and years,

450 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

in the studying of what a few hours would suffice
to make them acquainted with, it is not to be
wondered at, that they produce in such the most
pernicious effects. Where they read them as a
*ort of pastime, and by way of choosing variety,
without their natures are depraved, these produc
tions will never injure them. So it is with cards.
Not that I design to place them upon a level with
any kind of books; for I think them far less ra
tional than the most frivolous and unimportant.
At the same time, were they only made use of as
the diversion of an hour, and not with views of
gaming, they might be perfectly inoffensive. As
it is, they are the root of every vice ; and farewell
to the happiness of those .who indulge in them to
excess." " I never played for any large sum,"
Said Sir Everard, "and always made up my mind
to lose, as I knew the chance on which it de
pended. ButT must acknowledge, I have felt
greater satisfaction in bestowing a trifle on this
distrest unhappy woman, than ever 1 did in win
ning a prize. The latter success 1 was indebted
to fortune for obtaining ; but the former, goodness
inspired me with a desire to promote the welfare
of a fellow-creature ; and the action has rewarded
itself, which verifies the truth of your Grace's ob
servation." " It certainly does," replied the Duke,
" and every heart that is guided by motives pure
and systematical, must feel the inward estimation
I have described."

Dinner was now concluded, and the remainder
of the day was spent in talking over family topics.
Thus had a few nours made entire converts of the
blooming Lady Mornington, and the once gay
husband. They had been gradually yielding to
the power of reason and reflection, and may at
length be denominated, beings not unacquainted
with the charms of sentimentality.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 451

CHAPTER XLVI.

Visit to the Cottage ^and Dreadful Catastrophe.

EARLY the following morning, the Duchess went,
as she had promised, to visit the cottage of Mrs.
Pierce. Agathor beheld her approach, and ran,
with streaming eyes, to meet and bless the saviour
of herself and parent. The Duchess kindly took
her hand, and begging her not to weep, led her
into the hut. To describe the scene that ensued
between her grateful parent and our amiable
heroine, would be a task inadequate to perform.
Upon the latter desiring her to restrain her thanks,
she said, " would you, Madam, deprive me of
the only means by which I can support my weight
of obligation. Were not my overcharged heart
to pour forth the weak effusions of my humble
gratitude, it must burst asunder. Your Grace's
benevolence has preserved my poor dear husband
from being interred by the parish. 1 shall now
be able to lay him comfortable in the ground,
and that is a greater consolation to my soul, than
the thought of any personal benefit. We once,
Madam, lived in credit ; but misfortunes over
took us. Such misfortunes as we are all liable
to meet with. With pleasure, however, 1 can
state, that they did not originate in our own im
prudence. This reflection brought a gleam of
satisfaction to the mind of my deceased husband,
even in his departing moments. His conscience
had nothing to reproach him with ; therefore, he
died happier than many a prince, who has closed
his existence beneath a gilded canopy of state, and

FATHERLESS FANNY; OH,

with his bed surrounded by nurses and physicians,
He had nothing to tranquillize his exhausted frame,
but that inward serenity which none can feel save
those who act uprightly. He injured no one — he
opprest no one — and he is gone, I hope, to the re
gions of the blest." Mrs. Pierce here wept a tor
rent of tears to the memory of him, who was be
yond the ..reach of hearing them. The Duchess
tenderly sympathised in her affliction. Seeing
Agathor weeping in melanoholy silence, she said,
" You have a good little girl : she, 1 hope, will
be a comfort to you." " She is, indeed, my only
remaining comfort," sighed Mrs. Pierce. " She is
a dutiful child, and possesses sensibility above
her years. Kiss me, my Agathor." She run to
her mother, and folding her arms about her neck,
embraced her with true affection. Her endear
ments were returned by her sorrowing parent with
maternal warmth. The heart of the Duchess
bounded with mournful transport at this affecting
scene. It rejoiced her to perceive the love that
reigned in the bosoms of this poor but worthy
woman, and her innocent child. Internally she
observed, there are stronger feelings in a cottage
than in a palace. The latter banish every sensa
tion that could give them pain. The former en
courage the exquisite acuteness of their anguish,
at least, in so high a degree, as to render them
deserving of being ranked amongst reasonable
mortals. Who, on ! who, would aspire to riches
and a title, to be divested of every natural, every
refined sentiment ! Amiable Fanny ! how few
can boast of a mind elevated as thine. Had all,
with an equal share of power, the same exalted
inclinations, what a benevolent globe should we
reside on, instead of the excessive penury we
daily behold. Indigence would be generally re
lieved ; and the great people would leave a name
not of infamy but of nonour. Their characters

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 453

would be held up to posterity, as worthy of ever
lasting perpetuation ; and their bright example
would be followed by succeeding generations.
But, what do J say ? The world is for itself — God
is foe us all. He preserves us, but we protect not
one anothei. To proceed. The Duchess staid
some little time conversing with the objects of her
bounty ; and at length left them overpowered
with her goodness. Having visited her other de
pendants with her usual benificence, she returned
to Darby House. There, alas! her spirits were
doomed to receive a considerable shock. A letter
awaited her arrival, from her unfortunate and most
unhappy friend, Lady Maria Ballafyn, late Ross.
It was sealed with black wax. Trembling with
impatience and alarm, she opened it. Its terrible
contents were as follows : —

"My beloved Fanny,

" I am distracted — Lord Ballafyn has commit
ted the rash act of suicide ; he has for a length of
time been relapsing into all his former vices. I
was deceived, in imagining him reformed ; but,
oh Fanny, little did I think he meditated self-
destruction. On Tuesday afternoon, he had been
treating me with more cruelty and indifference
than he was accustomed to do, and at last, upon
my venturing mildly to expostulate with him, he
rushed franticly up stairs, and presently I heard
the report of a pistol. >jj Hew towards the fatal
spot, but it was too late to prevent the awe-inspir
ing deed, or save the guilty perpetrator from its
dreadful consequences ; he was stretched on the
ground, in the agonies of death. The noise of
the pistol had alarmed the house, and the servants
were in a moment in the apartment. I assisted
them in endeavouring to raise him — he was
sensible. > Leave me, Maria,' said he, * I desire
not your presence ; yon can only be come to load

IV o. 20. 3 M

454 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

me with upbraidings, and in this moment of ex
tremity they may be spared.' ' Oh, how wrong
a judgment have you formed of your unhappy
wife,'. cried I, in an agony too great to be descri
bed — 'Indeed, indeed, my Lord, you are mis
taken. I hoped to save a life that ever was and
ever will be dear to me.' He looked at me wildly,
and then said — ' and does my Maria speak to me in
accents such as these? Dear inspired excellence,
how deeply I have wronged thee. Oh, mercy,
heaven ! Mercy, did I say? Mercy, on a wretch
like me ? The murderer of a brother ! and lastly,
the murderer of myself !' He was by this time
put to bed, and medical aid had arrived. Three
gentlemen of the faculty were called in, and they
all gave it as their opinion, that twenty-four hours
would decide the patient's fate ; they faintly inti
mated that it might be favourable, but forbade us
to expect that it would. They recommended, that
he should be kept perfectly quiet, as the least
agitation would increase his danger. Several shots
had lodged in his left side ; these it was im
possible at present to extract, as he was in a rag
ing fever. I watched by his bed-side, with un
ceasing attention — he called me his guardian angel,
and« implored me to supplicate the Most High
in his behalf. He showed no symptoms of de
lirium, but maintained his senses to the very last.
' Do you really forgive me ?' said he, pressing my
hand to his burning lips. ' Yes,' I returned, ' as
God is my eternal witness, I forgive th-ee.' ' 1 con
fess,' he continued, e that I have been the de
stroyer of thy felicity ; that I am the most wicked
of creatures.' 4 No/ I replied, * not so ; you are
afc least wakened to a conviction of your errors ;
stud the Saviour, who shed the grand atoning work
ctf grace, will I trust, have mercy on your trans
gressions, and receive you to his Courts above,*
* Oh ! cease Maria,' said my dying Lard, * fa

THE LITTtE MENDICANT. 455

encourage me with hopes it would bo presump
tuous to entertain. I nave sinned too far to be
an object of interest with the Lord. 1 have infa
mously defied his power, and I dare not even pray
for pardon.' At this moment, a clergyman came
to converse with him, who had been sent for by
his own desire. I offered to retire, but my Lord
requested me to stay and join in prayer with the
worthy divine; this I did most fervently. He
prayed for upwards of two hours with true devo
tion, and he seemed at length to have derived
comfort from the consolations that were offered by
the excellent Dr. Woodward, for that was the
name of the reverend gentleman; after he had left
him he grew gradually more composed, and talked
very rationally on the subject of death — a state to
which he was so near hastening. ' I would live
a little longer to repent,' he cried/ but it cannot be.
I feel that my end draws nigh ; I have limited
the period of my days, and taken the almighty
power into my hands.' He then fell into a slum
ber, but it was far from refreshing, his dreams
were disturbed and uneasy. As soon as he awoke,
he called for me ; I had not quitted the room, but
was withdrawn to a farther part — 1 was insteutly
at his side. * My dear Maria,' said he, ' can you
support this scene of melancholy ; you that have
been so unaccustomed to such mournful images
of horror ?' * Oh, are you better ?' I exclaimed, in
a voice of agony. * Better,' answered he, ' no, I
am much worse, I can hardly endure the pain I
suffer ; but it will not be of much longer duration;
that is to say, my present tortures — the future I am
unacquainted with.' ' I hope the present will be
all,' I replied. f I would fain hope so too,' he
ejaculated, ' but I dare not expect it, for I am
very wicked. My brother's blood calls aloud for
vengeance, and it must be satisfied.' 1 strove to
Console him, by representing, * that his brother's

456 FATHERLESS FAXNY ; OH,

guilt was equal to his, that he had not wantonly
planned the method of his dissolution, but had
placed his own life in danger, in engaging in a
duel.' ' This is true,' he returned, ' and I felt ex
asperated against him, but I should have con
sidered the ties of consanguinity, and not have
imbrued my hands in a brother's blood. I sent
him out of the world unprepared to meet the
Sovereign Judge. His crimes were black as mine,
save in this last sad instance. He had time al
lowed him for repentance, and oh, may that re
pentance have availed him in the sight of his
Maker ; may his sins be obliterated before him,
and his soul have received admission into his sa
cred kingdom.' He was now so faint he could
not proceed ; after this period, he held no regular
discourse, but spoke a few words at intervals.
He expired in less than twenty-four hours from
the time of the direful disaster, his hand clenched
in mine, and calling on the name of Jesus. Here
was indeed an awful scene. Lord Ballafyn, in the
prime of life, cut off in a moment, by violent
measures; dreadful to state — his own executioner.
Pity me, dearest Fanny. But what do I ask ?
Need I doubt your commiseration ? I know your
tenderness of heart. I loved Lord Ballafyn, cruel
as he has behaved to me, 1 loved him; but I could
have supported his loss with resignation — had it
happened under any other auspices — as it is, 1 can
scarcely endure my weight of grief. Unite your
prayers with nine, for his eternal repose ; his con
trition was great, and God's justice surpasseth all
understanding. In a state bordering on mental
distraction, I style myself,

Your truly affectionate,

But most afflicted Friend,

MARIA BALLAFYN,"

The Duchess had nearly swooned, as she peru-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 457

«ed this dreadful letter. " Good God!" exclaimed
she, ' pity thee, yes, dear Maria, companion of
my early infancy, I do indeed pity thy calamity!
Unfortunate fair, to have fixed thy affections on
such a wretch." When she communicated the
sad catastrophe to the Duke, and to the humane
Sir Everard and his lady, they were inexpressibly
shocked. Every heart compassionated the gentle
Maria, whose amiable virtues shone conspicuous
on every occasion. And despicable as was the
character of Lord Ballafyn, now that his career
was over, his sufferings called forth the tear of
anguish ; he had repented his enormities, though
when too late to amend ; and even the last action
of his guilty life, he had been spared long enough
after its commission, to evince the sincerity of his
penitence ; for which reason we hope he is for
given by the Creator he so highly offended. The
Duchess, after the first violent emotions of her
mind had subsided, took up her pen to write an
answer to her friend. She condoled with her in
the most soothing language she could devise, as
sured -her of her continued love and esteem, and
implored her to direct all her thoughts to the
grand Disposer of events ; Him, who could alone
console her in her afflictions. She mentioned her
knowledge of Dr. Woodward, and described him
as the most amiable of men ; concluding by once
more entreating her to confide in the goodness of
infinite wisdom. Her letter was a cordial to the
drooping soul of the opprest Lady Ballafyn. She
kissed, and wept over this testimony of ardent
affection. " Oh," said she, " that I had never
exchanged the name of Trentham for that of Ross ;
I had now been in the enjoyment of felicity, and
perhaps my husband living ; for if he had never
married me, he might have escaped the rock of
dissipation into which he plunged. His heart was
never urine, though his hand was proffered at

458

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

the altar ; but I was weak enough to believe iit
the sincerity of his protestations of attachment.
Happy in the imagined possession of his love, too
readily I consented to become his wife. 1 should
not so hastily have disposed of myself.

Such were the melancholy reflections of the de
jected Lady Ballafyn. Her mother, the Marchi
oness of Petersfield, as soon as she heard the dis
mal tidings, hastened to her sorrowing daughter.
The presence of her parent had been ever gratify
ing — it was peculiarly so at this moment. From
whom could she hope for consolation so effectu
ally, as from the force of maternal affection. The
Marchioness was a woman of exquisite sensibility,
and possessed most acute sensations. It was long
'ere either of them could utter a word ; but con
tinued to weep upon the bosoms of each other.
At length Lady Maria strove to express the satis
faction at beholding her mother. The Marchio
ness spoke the language of comfort to her tortured
breast, and she succeeded in restoring her to a
degree of composure.

We leave them, and return to Darby House.
This unhappy event threw a damp even over the
spirits of the sprightly Amelia. Though unac
quainted with Lady Ballafyn, she largely partici
pated in her woes. She had heard the Duchess
speak of her in such terms as had created the
warmest esteem in her favour ; but, exclusive of
this, she would have pitied her as a woman, had
she been a stranger to her character. A female
that does not sympathize in the" afflictions of her
sex, is hardly worthy to be called a woman. Lady
Mornington was not of this description. She was
sorry for every distress, and particularly for this
deserving Lady, who had been rendered miserable
by the late vile dissimulator. " Every thing 1
observe," remarked she, to the Duchess of Albe-
marie, " confirms my reverence to heaven for the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 459

blessings I enjoy. When I look around the wide
universe, and see the numberless varieties of
wretchedness that its inhabitants are compelled
to endure, and then view nay own situation, I think
that I am an object of peculiar bounty. The idea
may be presumptuous, yet it is powerful; and I
should be the very essence of ingratitude, were I
not constantly to return thanks for the manifold
graciousness of the Eternal." Her Grace express
ed herself of the same opinion ; as, indeed, every
person must who thinks of religion in a proper
light. The obligations we are severally under, to
the beneficent Author of our being, and of every
felicity we enjoy, demand our signal veneration ;
and it is not satisfaction at another's misery that
should increase our happiness. That would be
a selfish and inhuman joy ; but, surely, when we
behold the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, and
consider that we are exempt from such and such
calamities, we should be grateful for the mercies
showered on our heads, and not impiously imagine
them our due. The Duchess now prepared to
write an account of the dreadful transaction to
the Ellincourts, who she knew would sincerely
lament the sorrows of their amiable relation. The
lovely Maria was an universal favourite, from the
numerous mild and dignified virtues which cha
racterised her nature. Her praiseworthy conduct
as a wife deserves to be particularly noticed,
though her tenderness had never been repaid by
Lord Ballafyn, but with cruel and unworthy treat
ment. She had from the day that united her to
him till the hour of his dissolution, maintained the
most affectionate behaviour. She was convinced,
that adopting contrary methods could be of no
service, except degrading her. But she always
entertained a hope, that her continued love and at
tention might effect a reformation in his heart ;
and notwithstanding it failed in this case, let not

460 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

my fair readers be dissuaded from practising the
same ; for never was their an instance of a man
being conquered, by a woman assuming the curb
of authority ; but many, many have been con
vinced of their errors, and brought to a know
ledge of their duties, by subduing gentleness and
mild entreaty. They may be won by affection.,,
but never will be awed by tyranny.

CHAPTER XLVIL

Indisposition of Lady Ellincourt — Crim. Con
in high life.

WHEN the Ellincourts received tl j afflicting in
telligence, they were, as may be imagined, truly
grieved for the sufferings of Lady Ballafyn. The
health of the Dowager Lady Ellincourt had been
for some weeks visibly on the decline. The shock
she now sustained affected her spirits to a violent
degree, and increased the indisposition under
which she laboured. Lord Ellincourt declared
that his fair cousin ought to rejoice, and not to*
lament the death of such a wretch." "He murdered
the happiness of the sweetest of women," cried
he, " and, if 1 was her, instead of mourning afc
his decease, I would leave the willow for a
worthier object, and assume the garb of joyous
exultation." "Oh, fie! Edmund," said his mo
ther, "thus to express yourself on an event that
plunges every other individual into the deepest
affliction." (( 1 am afflicted ou her account,"

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 461

warmly replied he, " I have the sincerest affec
tion for my amiable cousin, but I cannot endure
the thought that she should shed a tear to the
memory of a man who has proved himself so
utterly undeserving of her. His life was as aban
doned as his end was unbecoming." " It is the
knowledge of his wickedness that creates these
emotions in our breasts," said Lady Emily. " It is
awful to reflect on the future state of a character
so depraved. His vices were rendered more
heinous by ttye artifice with which he sought to
gloss them over; and the warning that was offered
him in the fate of his guilty brother, had he ac
cepted, he might have become a worthy member
of society for the remainder of his days. But his
apparent reform, and the relapse, proved that the
seeds of corruption were sown into his nature,
and that his heart was hardened to conviction ; it
is not the loss of such a husband that can be a
source of calamity to the gentle Maria, but it is
the consideration of — oh! dreadful idea — of what
may be his everlasting doom."

This latter suggestion checked the vivacity of
Lord Ellincourt. He acknowledged the impro
priety of jesting on a subject so replete with so
lemnity ; but repeated his detestation of the prin
ciples of Lord Ballafyn. " I always despised him,"
continued he, " since he uttered a vile insinuation
respecting her who now is Duchess of Albemarle
— his daring to suspect me of designing the deli
berate perversion of an innocent and lovely girl,
rendered him, from that moment, odious in my
eyes. I had never thought highly of his moral
character ; but the greatest libertine in the world,
I should have imagined, could not have been so
base as to have devised plans for the seduction of
a child. He was sufficiently a villain, however,
for the basest of all purposes ; and because I had
unthinkingly participated in too many of his pur-

20. 3 N

462 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

suits, he believed that I was capable of practising
vice in any shape. I always felt the stigma cast
upon my lame, by such a suspicion; and I ab
horred the fiend that had grossly intimated it."
*' Your warmth on thispoint is natural," answered
his mother, " many men would have resented it
in a way that I have ever rejoiced you die! not ;
but, I am sorry to say, there are a class of beings,
without being as diabolically inclined as the object
we are speaking of, who are loath to ascribe merit
to the actions of their fellow creatures. They im
pute the most benevolent deeds t« motives vastly
foreign from the truth, and interpret virtue into the
extremes of vice. So cruel is the world, that
those people who have no goodness or humanity
in themselves, cannot bear to find others possest
of any. They would, in fact, banish such senti
ments from the hitman breast ; but they will never
succeed where they are radically engrafted in the
heart." "No," replied Emily, "it is riot every
one whose bosom will admit corruption, though
there are numbers not proof against the tempter."
a I never presumed to boast of extraordinary
goodness," said Lord Ellincourt, " but I think
and hope I should have shuddered, even in my
most dissipated hours, at an act of premeditated
baseness."

Lord Ellincourt did not, like many of his sex,
attempt to conceal the imprudences of his youth
from his amiable lady. He was too ingenuous in
his temper to attempt dissimulation. The sin
cerity of his affection for Emily was evident ; and
his conduct, since his marriage, had secured her
-from jealousy. It showed him the more noble
therefore to confess the failings he had been guilty
of; and instead of weakening her attachment, it
strengthened it on more durable grounds.

To add to the already too heavy burden of woe,
news was received from Ireland of the death,.after

; . i

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 463

i
a short illness, of Lady Caroline. The Dowager

Lady Ellincourt bore it with that calm resigna
tion which ever accompanies those who believe
that the decrees of Him who rules the universe
must be wise and just ; yet it will not excite sur
prise, that such reiterated trials should have pro
duced the most dangerous consequences on a con
stitution very far from robust. She had a mind
that never permitted itself to be depressed at
trifles ; but no one suffered more severely under
the force of real calamity. The strongest minds
feel more intense anguish than those which are
termed weak ones. "The latter are opprest at
things that are of no moment as much as if they
were of the utmost importance ; but the former
spare their sorrow for the hour when efficient rea
sons shall demand the tear of agony or sympathy.
Thus did Lady Ellincourt. She was ever ready
to weep at affliction, whether she or her friend
experienced it. Nor was it for herself alone
she now endured the bitterness of grief, though
her own troubles preponderated over every
oth&r.

We shall leave her for a while, and give our
readers a brief account of, the farther misfortunes
of that worthy nobleman, Lord Mountmorris,
whose case must have raised commiseration in
every feeling bosom. His woes were now com
plete. His guilty abandoned wife had eloped
with the yet more abandoned Sir Richard Palmer.
When Lord M. returned from the affecting inter
view that has been detailed, between him and
Lady Ellincourt, he went immediately to the
apartment of his Lady. She was sitting by the
window, her arm resting carelessly on its frame,
and reading a letter. On perceiving the entrance
of her Lord, she colored, and put it hastily into
her bosom. " You need not, Madam," said he,
advancing towards her, " have feared that I should

464 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

inquire into the contents of the paper you were pe
rusing, as I have not so much curiosity about mat
ters tnat concern you. Your insufferable beha
viour when last we parted, has rendered you an
object too contemptible in my eyes for your pre
sent or future conduct to occasion me the least un
easiness. I never thought 1 could have despised
Lady Mountmorris ; but the weak artifice she has
practised upon my too easy credulity, is not to be
forgot, though forgiven. I forgive you, Madam,
from my soul ; but the purport of my visit is, to
insist upon an immediate separation. I do not
wish it to take place in animosity. I repeat, that
I bear none to you. 1 would, at this moment, re
sign my existence to promote your welfare ; yet
hear me, Madam, and do not interrupt what T am
going to say. I will no longer be the dupe of
vanity and base dissimulation. I have suffered
the dictates of an extravagant affection to lead me
beyond the bounds of reason ; but there is a pe
riod when all shall be convinced of their errors. A
day is not far off, when, perhaps, your Ladyship
will repent of the part you have acted. However,
to bring matters to a speedy conclusion, will you
give your consent to a divorce ? I will state to you
the terms by which we part ; and I hope you will
not think me ungenerous. Your fortune is suffi
cient to maintain you in splendour. I shall allow
you an additional annuity of five thousand pounds,
which shall be regularly paid, while your character
is untainted. Should 1 find that degraded, you
cannot blame me if 1 withdraw it. Do you, or do
you not accede to these measures ?" Had her
Ladyship entertained the smallest particle of love
for Lord M. this cool deliberate way of arguing
would have affected her twenty times more than
if he had been to a passion ; but her heart was
insensible to a manner refined as his. She seemed
totally at a loss how to answer him ; but kept

THE MTTLE MENDICANT. 465

twirling her fan, and swelling with pride and in
dignation. He grew impatient for a replj. c<My
conduct to you, Madam, has been honourable — I
expect to be treated with the same." "Really
my Lord/' exclaimed she, at length, "you are so
impetuous, there is no knowing how to deal with
you." " Oh, no, Madam, you are mistaken ; I am
not impetuous, but calm and determined. It is of
no use to evade my question, for I will be an
swered." After some farther hesitation, she said,
" Well, my Lord, as we cannot agree, I think it
reasonable that we should separate, and your con
ditions are certainly honourable; but you must
allow me to-day to consider of the affair — to
morrow morning it shall be settled to your satis
faction." This reply, though it abounded in indif
ference, contained a larger share of condescension
than he had ventured to hope for from Lady M.
He granted her request ; and bowing politely,
left her to her meditations.

It is not to be supposed that he could wish to
pass another hour in the presence of the woman
who had ruined his tranquillity for ever. For,
let it not be imagined, that he could forget the
love he once had borne her. No, affection is not
so easily eradicated. Though he despised her
principles, he could not hate the woman. Her be
haviour at his entrance, and the haste with which
she folded up what he feared, and not unjustly,
was a guilty evidence of shame, excited suspicions
in his breast, very injurious to the honour of his
Lady; and, notwithstanding his apparent uncon
cern before her, his soul was a conflict of agitating
passions. " Yet, wherefore," cried he, " am I thus
tortured and unhappy. She is lost to me — she
shall be lost to me. Ah! but shall another tram
ple on my rights, and dare to bask in beauty's
arms, while I, condemning, and^condemned, wan
der through the earth alone ? Shall this wretch —

466 FATHERLESS FANNY; OH,

this Sir Richard Palmer, who is himself the hus
band 'of the most amiable of women, be the man
to destroy my everlasting peace ? Oh, Charlotte !
Charlotte I little did 1 think, when leading thee to
the hymeneal altar, how soon I should repent my
vows. Unworthy woman, lost to virtue, and thy
self. Was that charming person bestowed upon
thee that thou mightest have the power of sub
duing all mankind, without ever forming a ra
tional attachment for any one individual ? Great
Heaven, how wide a contrast between thy exter
nal and internal perfections ! Was thy mind as
noble as thy exterior is lovely, happy would have
been the lot of thy husband. As it is, I am the
most miserable of my sex." In this strain Lord
M. bent his steps to a coffee-house he was accus
tomed to frequent. His chagrin was noticed by
his companions, and some of them rallied him
upon the cause of it. His Lady had made her
character too conspicuous not to be known to
every one ; and by all his friends it was held in
the contempt it deserved. " Well, Charles," said
Lord Belgrove, "still does your countenance wear
that melancholy aspect, and all concerning that
painted darling of yours. 1 would sacrifice the
whole sex before I would submit to be made
eternally miserable by the arts of a perfidious fair.
Mountmorris," he continued, " I am astonished at
your want of resolution. Your present life is a
state of wretchedness; and, till you are deter
mined to be free, as once you were, never expect
felicity , for it is a gift that cannot be possessed with
Lady M." His Lordship answered, that he had
formed a resolution, and explained the terms by
which he intended to gain a separation. " You
are too generous," exclaimed his friends, " she has
enough to support her in elegance, and why should
you contribute to the maintenance of a woman
who is totally beneath your notice, and that can

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

already be indulged in every superfluity." " I
would not go from my word," replied Lord Mount-
morris. " 1 have agreed to this settlement, under
the conditions named, and cannot swerve from
them. I would wish to act honourably by her,
though she has behaved with such injustice to me."
Arguments were then produced for and against
this undue liberality. But he still maintained his
determination; and, after some hours' conversation,
in which they sought to console him different ways,
he quitted the party, and prepared to return home
— a home that was now, alas! become fateful to
him. He supped, however, at the house of a
friend, and then repaired to Favel Lodge. When
he arrived there, he was informed, by his servants,
that Lady M. had retired to her chamber for the
night. As he was no longer the slave of her
charms, he retired to a room where he could, in
secret meditate on his sorrows. His rest was far
from tranquil. His imagination was haunted
with visions of wild affright — visions that were,
alas! too fatally realized. In the morning he
ordered his breakfast to be brought up stairs, as
he was resolved not to see his Lady, till he went
to receive his final answer. His commands were
obeyed. On inquiring after Lady M. he was
told she had not yet risen ; a circumstance that
rather surprised him, as she was by no means a
late riser. A horrid foreboding of evil flashed
across his mind. He was upon the point of di
recting the domestics to ask if she was within her
chamber, but fearing to betray his emotion, he
left the breakfast parlour and descended to his
study. The first object that met his eye, was a
bit of paper, folded up, and directed to himself.
Instinctively he took hold of it. It was the hand
writing of his guilty wife. The contents were as.
follows : —

468 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

"My Lord,

"By the time you have read this, I shall be be
yond the reach of your pursuit. I have adopted
the only method to -free myself from restraint. I
acquit you of every imputation ; but the cares of
a wife are very far from suiting my disposition. T
have money enough, therefore want no addition
from your Lordship. You may perhaps guess the
partner of my flight, but attempt not to follow us,
for it will be of no avail. I never loved you, my
Lord, as I have repeatedly declared, and as it
was not in my power to make you happy, do not
blame me for making another so, who can fully
return the obligation that is conferred.

" I am, my Lord, wishing you every felicity,

"Your's,

" CHARLOTTE."

" Dreadful," exclaimed Lord Mountmorris,
throwing down the letter and stamping upon it.
u Infamous woman — disgrace to thy sex ; follow
thee, no — I despise thee and thy accursed para
mour too much to risk my life about thee. I
would once have fought for thee — died for thee;
but now it is all over; contempt and bitter indig
nation have conquered love," furiously he con
tinued, as if shocked at the remotest sugges
tion of a faint remains of affection. For some
minutes he walked about the room in a state of
frantic distraction. His servants having heard

^^

some exclamations of alarm, hastened to their
master, who they feared was ill. Observing their
terrified looks, he said, " My friends, your mis
tress has yielded herself to the arms of a sedu
cer." They started with horror. " Nay, start
not, nor be distressed at the information, for she
was as unworthy of your services, as of my re
gard." He now inquired whether they were cer-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 469

•tain if their lady had slept at home? They answered
in the affirmative. Upon entering her chamber,
however, that did not confirm their assertions, as
it was evident from the situation of the bed, that
no person had been in it. Her own female atten
dant was not to be found, so that she had doubt
less accompanied her mistress ; the rest were ig
norant of tne matter. These circumstances were
a convincing proof that she had eloped the night
before, and on a farther investigation, it was yet
more fully ascertained ; all her jewels and apparel
were gone, her flight, therefore, must Tiave been
premeditated. After the first emotions had sub
sided, he wrote to Lady Ellincourt, acquainting
her with his misfortunes, she being the only friend
that truly condoled with him in his calamity. This
was a third dreadful stroke to that amiable lady ;
she never felt her family afflictions so acutely, as
to prevent her sharing in the sorrows of others.
She particularly commiserated those of the ex
cellent Lord M. who deserved to have possessed
the best, instead of the worst of women — but thus
unequally are mortals joined — virtue and infamy
are too often united. We shall proceed in our
next, to give a short account of the elopement.

CHAPTER XLV1II.

The Elopement, and Friendly Condolence.

FROM the period of Sir Richard Palmer's first
meeting with Lady Mountmorris, at Pemberton
Abbey, he had determined on completing her
20. 3 o

4TO FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

ruin. They mutually read the language of each
other's eyes ; and those ready instruments of de
struction contain a much larger share ofexpression,
than any words that can be uttered by the tongue.
If a countenance would betoken anger, love, friend
ship, or soft-beaming pity, all those sensations may
be discovered in an eye. There is not a passion
that can be named that may not be traced in legi
ble characters, on viewing those organs of refined
sentiment, or its reverse. This guilty pair were re
ciprocally inspired with what they termed an ar
dent flame. I will not presume to call it love, as
it was only the effect of unlawful desires. Sir
Richard soon found an opportunity of declaring
himself to the object of his depraved affections.
He had not much difficulty in conveying a letter to
her hands ; and it was answered as warmly as he
could expect. Several epistles passed between
them. Meanwhile the amiable Lady Palmer suf
fered additional tyranny from her cruel husband.
She was just in her suspicions. She had, indeed,
a dangerous rival in Lady M. She had always
been slighted by Sir Richard, but since his intro
duction to that beautiful woman she was treated
with more and more indifference. More than once
he had the effrontery to discourse with eloquence
on the charms of his favourite in the presence of
his. wife ; and to speak with admiration of the
lustre of black eyes, though hers were the softest
blue. These were insults that many women would
have deeply resented ; but Lady Palmer bore
them without repining; at least, she concealed the
pain they gave her from his observation. Her
heart was the secret abode of agony. Jealousy
reeked her soul to madness. Not that her gentle
disposition would have sought to injure herenemy,
had the power presented itself. But she could
not be blind to what was, alas! too palpable a truth.
She had married Sir Richard from a pure affec-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 471

iion, and he had professed an equal attachment
for her. But of what signification are the vows
of an Atheist, they are no sooner made than
broke ; a wretch who believes the vast creation to
be the work of chance, is not likely to pay homage
to any sacred institution ; he placed no confi
dence in a future state, but thought when this
present life was spent, he should sink into the
chaotic mass from whence he sprung; that we
were born for pleasure, and that, as the only en
joyment we could ever derive, must be from the
indulgence of sensual gratifications, those mortals
were infinitely to blame, who extolled the glories
of virtue, and lived and died in the practice of it.
Such were the sentiments of this vile infidel, and
such ascendancy did they gain over him, that his
whole time was divided between gaming, wine,
and the worst characters of the female sex. He
had cautiously concealed his opinions on religion
from his lady, till they were united, or she never
would have consented to wed a man of such prin
ciples. He did not long, however, preserve the
veil of sanctity; after the sacred knot was indis-
solubly tied, he threw off the subtle mask he
had assumed, and showed himself in his native
colours. Lady Palmer was surprised and shocked
at the shameless artifice of the abominable dis
simulator, but it was too late to betray the ex
treme horror that she felt ; she was the wife of
Sir Richard Palmer, and she was sensible of the
duties that appertained to her in- that situation.
They had been married about two years, when her
happiness was for ever blasted by the machina
tions of the infamous Lady Mountmorris. To pro
ceed with our story, Sir Richard, at length, ven
tured to propose an immediate elopement. It was
at first gently refused by the lady, as she knew
that a little opposition would but serve to increase

472 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

the ardor of his wishes ; he implored her to have'
pity on his sufferings, and relieve the torments
under which he lingered. She at last agreed to
fly with him to Holland, representing Lord M. as
a rigid and austere tyrant, with whom she could
never hope for felicity ; and stated his resolution
to obtain a divorce, adding, that she was con
scious she had done nothing to give him the least
offence, but he was an implacable judge — in short,
she had never loved him, but had been compelled
by force to marry him. He, in return, assured
her, that he had never even pretended to like
Lady P. but she was a forward woman that had
wantonly aspired to his hand without seeking to
possess his heart ; and he was now far more
anxious to free himself from the clogging reins of
matrimony than ever he had been to wear them.
This was the letter her Ladyship was perusing
when Lord Mountmorris entered the room ; it
concluded with thanking her for her compliance
with his desires, and promising that she should
never have cause to repent of her preference to
him. That very night was fixed for her depar
ture. She was strengthened in her resolution,
when she found her Lord so impatient for a se
paration, and appointed the next morning for her
final answer, well knowing that by that time she
would be beyond the reach of giving one. In
the evening she affected to retire to rest earlier
than usual, informing the domestics that their
attendance was unnecessary. Her own maid,
Honoria, however, was in the secret of all her
amours. She had lived with her before her mar
riage, and been a witness to her scandalous licen
tiousness ; it was therefore the interest of Lady
M. to retain this faithful servant ; had she dis
charged her, she would have hazarded the risk of
her character being exposed ; besides, she could

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 473

not easily have got another who would have an- ,
swered her purpose so well. This girl had pack
ed up her wardrobe and every thing that be
longed to her mistress, ready for setting out, and
offered to accompany her with the most hearty
good will, declaring it was her wish to live and
die in her service. Lady M. said she was a kind
creature, and requested she would attend her.
The servants being engaged at supper, they es
teemed it a proper opportunity to go off. They
left Favel Lodge without exciting notice, and
hastened to a carriage that was waiting for them
at a little distance, in which was Sir Richard
Palmer. He instantly alighted, and hurried them
into the vehicle, exulting with fiery transport at
the effect of his enterprize. They drove with ra
pidity for some miles, till arriving at a sea-port,
they embarked for Holland, her Ladyship re
joicing at the success of her plans, and the emo
tions that would rend the heart of her Lord on
reading the letter that would impart to him her
disgrace. We leave the guilty pair to pursue
their journey, and return to Lady Palmer. On
learning the above dreadful intelligence, that
amiable woman was in a state of distraction.
Her sister, Lady Campbell, happened to be on a
visit to her at the time. She had been about
three months a widow — she soothed her as ten
derly as she could, and endeavoured to reconcile
her to the loss of a man so unworthy of her.
(f And yet," sighed she, " I loved him. Oh,
Lady Ellincourt would that we had not accept
ed your invitation to the Abbey, I might still
have been happy with Sir Richard." Happiness
indeed she had never tasted since she became
Lady P. She had been acquainted with too
many of his acts of gallantry for her peace not
to have been materially destroyed, though she
had forbore to load with reproaches the man

474 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

whom she had sworn to love, honor, and obey ;
but now, the small remains of tranquillity she
possessed were forfeited. " Cruel Lady M." she
exclaimed, "to forsake so good a husband, and
plant daggers in the bosom of a woman that never
injured you." How few would have expressed
themselves so leniently — but revenge was a sen
sation never encouraged in the breast of this ex
cellent female ; it is a passion too despicable to be
harboured in a virtuous mind. She felt her
wrongs, and despised the perfidy of her who was
their vile occasioner. Yet she pitied the suffer
ings she was convinced she would .endure when
the stings of conscience should overtake her, for
that they would, was a truth she could not doubt.
Conscience is the concomitant of guilt, and sooner
or later those that err against the Divine com
mandments will labour under its oppressing in
fluence. She sought for consolation in prayer to
the God of all graciousness — Him, from whom
alone she could hope to find a solace from her
cares. She had received a pious education from
the best of parents ; but they were now commit
ted to the tomb. Not withstand ing the impious
profanity that marked the character of Sir Rich.
Palmer, and the tender attachment her heart had
ever entertained for him, her principles were un-
corrupt. She had allowed not the force of her
affection to subdue the religious sentiments that
had been inculcated into her nature from earliest
infancy ; and many disputes had arisen on this
account between her and Sir Richard. She had
mildly endeavoured to convince him of the doc
trines of Christianity, and fo converse upon the
goodness of the Eternal. When this was the
case, he always protested his unbelief of every
thing of the kind, and repeated over and over
again, his firm conviction that no Supreme Being
existed, and that it was only indulging ourselves

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 475

in false expectations, to place credence in ridicu
lous stories about Heaven, and such sort of stuff.
At these periods tears were generally the reply of
Lady Palmer. It was in vain to offer to reason
with him, for he detested all attempts at argument.
But oft did she importune the Deity to inspire
him with a love of those sacred precepts, he so
wickedly disavowed. And even now that her
misery was at its height, she still prayed for his
reform with fervent devotion.

We now go back to our unhappy friend, Lord
Mountmorris. We have stated, that he informed
Lady Ellincourt, by letter, of the flight of his
Lady. A few days having passed, his grief being
sufficiently abated to admit of his leaving the so
litude of his apartment, he ordered his carriage,
and proceeded to Pemberton Abbey, as be wished
to hold one more mournful conversation on the
subject of his woes. On arriving there, he was
-told that Lady Ellincourt was seriously indisposed,
and could not see company ; but, upon sending in
his name, he was instantly admitted. Her Lady
ship was sitting on a sofa, supported by a pillow,
and looking, indeed, very ill. She desired Lord
M. to advance, with a countenance expressive of
the deepest melancholy. " I am concerned, Ma
dam," said he, " to behold you thus, and fear that
my present visit is'an intrusion." " Oh, no," an
swered Lady Ellincourt, pressing his hand, and re
questing him to be seated, " your visits were never
intrusive. They are now, more than ever, accepti-
ble. Since we last met, 1 have drank of the cup of
affliction ; therefore, can more fully participate in
yours." " We are then mutual sympathizers," said
his Lordship, " but 1 hope your afflictions, Madam,
are not irremediable — mine can never be removed."
Lady Emily, who was present, would have retired,
but her mother said, " no, my dear, Lord Mount
morris knows I have no secrets from my family.

476 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

You are acquainted with the stay of his sorrows,
and, 1 am sure, compassionate them as strongly
as myself." " Indeed 1 do," replied the lovely
Emily — a tear glistening in her eye.

Lady Ellincourt then said, that her calamity was
of a nature that would admit of no removal, save
by death ; and proceeded to relate to him, as well
as her agonized feelings would allow, the loss she
had sustained. " After an estrangement of so
many years," cried she, weeping, " conceive, my
Lord, the distress of mind I endured, on hearing
that my daughter was no more." " 1 do conceive
it," answered he, "it must have been poignant in
the extreme. Yet time, 1 trust, will alleviate the
pungent smart." " It will," said she, I know
it will. I feel that my sufferings draw near a close.
I think, and hope, that I am fast hastening to that
bourne from whence no traveller returns." As she
uttered these words a ray of celestial animation
lightened up her countenance, and seemed to dif
fuse comfort through her heart. Nothing is so
pleasing to an opprest mind, as the consideration
that a time is near, when that oppression must
cease. Particularly if it is to Heaven we are
looking for succour and relief. Earthly prospects
of redress are uncertain ; but God's power and
wisdom never fails. When man rejects our cause,
He takes it up, and preserves us with almighty
care. Lady Ellincourt, likewise, mentioned the
fate of Lord Ballafyn, representing that as an ad
ditional source of disturbance and uneasiness.
She now adverted to his own sorrowful Case, and
inquired " how he intended to proceed ?" " I shall
hasten," answered he, " to the Supreme Court of
Judicature ; and, stating circumstances, sue for a
lawful divorce. It is the only method I can have
recourse to ; for, did 1 know the retreat of my
abandoned wife, I would now disdain to ask her
consent to a measure which the laws of my coun-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 477

try give me a right to claim. She is unworthy of the
shadow of respect from me ; and as to damages
1 should never think of, for money could not
afford the least compensation for the injury that
has been done me ; therefore, I shall decline a
prosecution of the kind. The sole object of my
wishes is, to be declared free." Lady Ellincourt
strongly commended that determination, and ad
vised him to pursue it without delay. "O that I
had abided by your instructions," exclaimed he,
" a few months ago, and viewed Miss Rivers, not
as the most angelic of her sex, but, as a dangerous
enchantress, wno would prove an everlasting foe
to my happiness. Had I so acted, I should not
rashly have plunged into so wretched a thraldom.
Yet wherefore do I talk thus, since what is past
cannot be recalled. As soon shall the world be
uncreated, as one hourof our existence be revoked.
She was beautiful — I thought her virtuous. Per
haps I was not the first that has been deceived by
a false show of external allurements." " Few
men, I acknowledge," answered Lady Ellincourt,
" could have been impenetrable to the charms of
this most deceitful fair; and, while you believed
her perfection, it is not to be wondered at, that
you was rather directed by the dictates of affec
tion, and your own experimental observation, than
guided by the advice of others. However, do not
f implore you, give way to grief. You have, in
reality, lost nothing ; as a woman that can desert
her husband, especially such a husband as you
have been, is unworthy his possession. As to your
character, it is too well known for the smallest slur
to be cast upon your fame. All must respect you,
and all have long despised her."

Lord Mountmorris assured her, that he would
not indulge grief upon the occasion ; that he was
sensible of the truth of all she had advanced, and
should endeavour to derive consolation from the

No. 21. 3 P

478 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU7

joys of a sentimental life. " A life," exclaimed
he, with a sigh, " which I have always admired,
but never tasted since my inauspicious marriage.
I have not been used to gaiety and dissipation, but
Lady M. could not endure the name of domestic
amusements. Nothing but plays and public enter
tainments suited her taste, therefore I was obliged
to renounce my speculative schemes, and rush into
a vortex of folly and extravagance that my heart
inwardly abhorred. She was very young, and I
thought would become more rational in the course
of time ; but how far this was from the case your
Ladyship knows." He could not here help burst
ing into a violent flood of tears, in which Lady
Ellincourt and Emily joined. Regaining more
composure, he resumed, " I the readier made ex
cuses for her volatility, as I imagined that whilst
single she had led a retired life, conceiving it im
prudent as an orphan, and without a protector, to
launch into the busy world ; consequently, when
married, she was doubly impatient to see every
thing that was to be seen ; but I find now, that so
far from living in retirement, she partook of the
pleasures of the town as much as when under the
sanction of a husband's authority, and unaccus
tomed to restraint, she had regarded not the laws
of propriety or prudence." Lady Ellincourt was
no stranger on this point, but she did not increase
the distress of Lord M. by continuing the dis
course. Further condolences having passed be
tween them, he took his leave.

Lady Ellincourt was somewhat soothed by his
friendly sympathy ; but her health she felt was
getting gradually worse; she was prepared for the
solemn moment of her departure, and resigned to
meet the presence of her grand Eternal Judge.
Oh, happy resignation : may all as the blissful,
period draws nigh, be inspired with thy potential
influence.

THE MTTtiE MENDICANT. 479

CHAPTER XLIX,

Moralising, and speedy Intelligence.

DURING this period, the amiable inhabitants of
Darby House were not unacquainted with the
sorrows of the worthy Lord Mountmorris. The
elopement that had taken place, soon found its
way into the papers of daily intelligence. Affairs
of that nature are never long a secret. The world
is too ready to rumour calumnious reports, to the
disadvantage of innocent individuals, to omit the
publication of real facts. The accounts spoke
very plain of the lady's real character, and hinted
that it was believed the parties were gone to Hol
land, but on that point they were not certain. " I
vow and protest," said the mischievous Amelia,
when the Duke of Albemarle had finished read
ing this fashionable crim. con. case, " that were
it not for the sufferings of the wife and husband
of these wretches, I should rejoice at their tor
menting one another ; he is too great a libertine
not to forsake her soon, and then she will have
powerful scope for repentance, and perhaps it may
be the means of her reformation ; but I am very
sorry for their misfortunes, though I think if they
are wise, they will hardly consider them as such."
" Oh, Madam," said the Duke, " we may think
so upon taking a casual survey of circumstances,
but on reflection it will appear in a different light.
This unhappy nobleman believed his wife was

480 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

virtuous, till he proved her otherwise, therefore
great is his calamity — and Lady Palmer loved the
villain, notwithstanding his unworthiness ; conse
quently her grief must be excessive. As to a re
formation being worked in her Ladyship,! fear it
will be a long time 'ere that happens. She is too
beautiful not to have plenty of admirers ; and
whilst she can lead a lite of pleasure and infamy,
she will be in no haste to repent." " I have met
Sir Richard Palmer at the gaming-table," re
marked Sir Everard, " he is a handsome and a
polite man, but I never was much prepossessed in
his favour. We once entered into a little conversa
tion, and I found his sentiments so opposite to
mine, that I was far from pleased with his society.
Soon after I heard the character he bore, and then
I cautiously avoided his company." " My heart
bleeds for Lady Palmer," said the Duchess of
Albemarle, " her mild dignified graces, and me
lancholy, though lovely countenance, won my
esteem at a first glance — too quickly I perceived
the cause of her misery ; the negligence and inat
tention of her husband convinced me that she had
either lost orTiever possessed his affections. But
when I saw all his attention directed to the worth
less Lady Mountmorris, I felt as if the barbed
arrow was pointed to destroy my own peace ; the
manner in which she received his compliments,
showed that she was not displeased with them;
and there cannot be a greater incentive for a man
to proceed in his base designs, than a woman
seeming flattered and obliged with what she ought
to repulse with the utmost indignation ; few men
are so depraved to persist when they know they
are despised." " That observation I am sure is
just, my dear," replied the Duke, " half the
women owe their ruin to their imprudent beha
viour ; when first a man offers to notice them,
particularly married men, a female that has any

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 481

pretensions to goodness or sensibility, must be
aware that the assiduities of a married man, can
be only with a view to deprive her of her honor.
He has a wife, to whom his love and tenderness is
due, and did she at once disdain his profligate ad
dresses, he would probably return to a sense of
virtue, and the duties incumbent on his situation ;
but while he is caressed and treated as the most
amiable of his sex, instead of being spurned at as
a monster of corruption, he will continue to prac
tise his artillery of seductive arts, and betray more
victims to destruction ; if the lady is likewise mar
ried, her guilt is doubly aggravated, as she breaks
the most solemn of all vows. If single, her crime
is still of the blackest die. She injures not her
self alone, but an innocent unoffending woman.
Where either have entered into the sacred band of
matrimony no excuse can be alleged." "Certainly
not," answered the Duchess, " and that woman
who can take a delight in triumphing over the
felicity of another, deserves to fall a sacrifice
to her inhuman cruelty. For my part, I love my
sex too well to bear the idea of occasioning them
a moment's pain ; but I have seen many, and even
heard them declare, that nothing gave them so
much satisfaction, as raising a spark of jealousy
in the breast of a rival, though they have vowed
a.t the same time that they nad not the smallest
intention of injuring the object, but their pride
was flattered by the supposition, that they were of
consequence enough to create a passion of such
a tendency."

" That is, indeed, a malicious gratification,"
cried Lady Mornington, " and cannot be too
much reprehended ; the bare supposition of such
treachery would fill a mind endued with rectified
principles with horror, and instead of flattering
their pride, humble it to the very dust." "Nothing
is so diabolical in my opinion," said the Duke,

482 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

*l as a character that wantonly labours to destroy
the happiness of a fellow-creature. There are
numbers, who would not adopt the effectual mea
sures for that purpose, that yet would not hesitate
to act as if glorying in its commission. I think
this is a vice equal to, if not exceeding liber
tinism ; it evinces such an utter want of principle
and feeling, that those who can be guilty of it
must be dispossessed of every moral sentiment.
I have known both men and women that have
studied to engage the affections of the other sex,
merely with a design to render them miserable, by
proving at last, what they should have doneatfirst,
that no regard existed towards them ; however,
this is a digression from the subject of our dis
course. To return to what you were observing,
my dear Fanny, on the negligence of Sir Richard
to his Lady when we were at the Abbey, I believe
it was visibly remarked by all present, and the
conduct of Lady Mountmorris to her husband
was as obvious — few men could have resisted
such behaviour as she displayed ; and, indeed, I
must affirm, that in cases of this kind, more un-
happiness arises to individuals from a neglect of
public attention to each other than from any source
that can be mentioned. A man, for instance, with
out being a professed libertine, who sees a beauti
ful woman, like Lady Palmer, slighted by a
wretch similar to Sir Richard, watches the ac
tions of both. She is respectful and affectionate,
he austere and reserved ; if he is not as great a
villain in himself, he is touched with commisera
tion for her misfortunes, and he surveys her with
an eye of pity. After viewing her a considerable
time, an opportunity presenting itself, he ventures
to address her ; he expresses his surprise that a
husband can be possest of so lovely a woman, and
not be more sensible of the merits of the treasure
heaven has bestowed upon him. This speech is

TOE LITTLE MENDICANT. 48$

perhaps made when she is least prepared to an
swer it ; it is not uttered in a way to create offence,
and her heart is the abode of innocence. She isaf-
fected by his kindness, a tear trickles down her
cheek, and she heaves a heavy sigh ; these tokens
of distress adds to her charms, and heighten the
compassion of him who is, by gradual degrees, be
coming her admirer. He then exclaims, 'Heavens,
what a villain! to requite such tenderness as thine
with such barbarous treatment. Oh! that I could
boast of such a wife, how different would I behave.'
Awakened to a conviction of her danger, she now
attempts to fly, requesting that he will not again
presume to force a conversation so improper for
her to hear. The indignant warmth with which
she repulses his improvident declaration, increases
his passion ^ hurried away by its dictates he madly
seizes her hand, and, imprinting on it a fervent
kiss, implores her not to be offended with the
liberty he takes — that he reveres her virtues, but
is distracted to think it should be rewarded with
cruelty and indifference. '

" She replies not, but snatching her hand from
him, hastens away with precipitation. He is not
deterred by this discouragement from renewing his
protestations of esteem at the next interview he
can find an opportunity of having. If she has in
deed the virtue and the presence of mind of the
amiable Lady Palmer, she will repel every attack
upon her honor, and maintain it to the very extinc
tion of her existence. But it is not every one who
can preserve their reputation amidst such degrad
ing usage as she was constantly in the habit of re
ceiving — we will suppose her but too susceptibly
inclined. Her lover is young, handsome, and in
sinuating. At first she represents the duty that is
owing to her consort, and intimates that his hav
ing failed in his, is no extenuation for her deri-
lection from the paths of rectitude. He quickly

484 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

obviates these objections to his wishes, and, to
come to a point, asks her, ( if she could love him
were she under no restraint to the contrary ?' She
blushingly acknowledges that she could then
prefer him to the rest of his sex. In a transport of
delight he kneels at her feet, to thank her for so
generous a declaration ; vowing that he never felt
so truly blest as in this moment of rapturous
ecstacy. She desires him to rise, and gently be-"
seeches him to forget that there is such a creature
as herself in being. He then can no longer restrain
himself within bounds. ' Shall I,' cries he, ' for
get that the sun shines, whilst I feel the warmth
of his powers — as soon shall that be the case as
your dear image be banished from my remem
brance. Oh, cruel fair! to advise me to forget

i

thee !' e Your impetuosity is alarming,' she an
swers, * I never can be your's, and why will you
torture yourself and me by persuing a discourse so
destructing to our peace ?' Every reply she makes
augments his ardor. I need not dwell upon the
success of his endeavours. She has listened to the
tender tale, that is the first step towards guilt. She
has owned a return of love, that is the second ; and,
what the third will be, may be too easily guessed.
Thus may the noblest sentiments be corrupted by
circumstances. Pity was the origin of this un
happy event on his side — gratitude on hers."

Sir Everard perfectly concurred in what the
Duke had advanced, adding, " that he did not be
lieve one man out of twenty would attempt to mo
lest the happiness of a couple who were living in
mutual felicity, and who seemed to make it their
study to be obliging to each other." "Your descrip
tion," said Fanny, addressing the Duke, "is I dare
say, far from exaggerated — these things are but
too common ; would women who have the misfor
tune to be united to objects so unworthy of them,
preserve their native honor, they must be blest with

Ttlfc LtTTLE MENDlCANt. 485

&n unwonted share of prudence and discretion ;
they must resolve to combat against passions that
are likely to prove hostile to their repose. It is
difficult when a woman receives repeated slights
from him who ought to be her sovereign protector,
instead of meeting with tenderness and affection,
to assume a cheerful countenance, even for a mo
ment 5 yet in some cases it is indispensably neces
sary ; her closet is the place for lamentation ; let
her not expose her unhuppiness and her husband's
character abroad — it will be of 110 other avail than
laying her open to the insults of the other sex, and
seldom obtaining for her the compassion of her
ownv, If she is necessitated to appear in public,
great will be the merit if her face can wear a smile
when her heart is breaking.

"Lady Palmer, it was evident, endeavoured to
conceal the agonizing state of her mind, though
through the thin veil might be traced her inward
sorrow ; her deportment to the author of her woes
was assiduously attentive, and her features were
rendered more interesting for not being adorned
with that look of extreme gaiety, which, I think,
diminishes, instead of improving, female charms."
" I may be very culpable," said Lady Mornington,
archly, " but, I declare, I should hardly condemn
a woman for resenting such indignant conduct,
could she do it without the shame recoiling on
herself; but the consequences must be more des
tructive to her honor and tranquillity than to that
of the wretch on whom she would be revenged.
Virtue is transparent as crystal, and when once
forfeited, an internal peace is for ever sacrificed."
" Most true," answered the Duchess ; " yet I can,
with your Ladyship, plead excuses for women that
deviate under such aggravating circumstances."
This conversation passed whilst the family were
at breakfast, the newspaper having given rise to
it; the meal being ended, the discussion closed.
21. 3 Q

486 FATHSIVLESS FANNY; OR,

The Duke and Sir Everard went out for a morn
ing's ramble, and our heroine and her friend re
paired to their beloved study. Here they read
and commented by turns for about a couple of
hours. The Duchess then played a tune upon the
harp, and accompanied it with her melodious
voice. Amelia joined in the singing, her voice
without being powerful was peculiarly sweet — it
was agreeably modulated, and full of the most
pleasing variation ; the Duchess was more scien
tific, but both were admirable. " I never heard
any person play so much to my liking as your
Grace," cried Amelia, " though I have always
been amongst musical folks. I am not accus
tomed to flatter, and particularly my Fanny, but
I must tell the truth. There is as much difference
in the manner in which practitioners perform mu
sic, as in any science on the face of the universe."
i( I have been told that I am skilful," replied the
Duchess, " but I do not pretend to vouch for the
justice of that assertion. I am fond of music,
and that may be one great reason why I excel."
" ' Music,' " exclaimed Amelia, in the language of
the Mourning Bride, " ' has charms to soothe a
savage breast, to soften rocks, and bend the knot
ted oak.' I am surprised," continued she, "how
any one can be averse to such divine harmony as
these sweet instruments afford. There seems to
be a magic inspiration attached to them that con
veys a power to the soul, indescribable, and almost
inconceivable, save to those who feel its heavenly
influence in themselves. If a temper is ruffled by
a temporary disappointment, or perplexed by any
unforeseen accident, comfort may be derived in
music; this I know, not from experience, but by
inward selection and outward observation. It is
reckoned the universal composer of affliction." "I
believe," replied Fanny, " that where one dislikes
it, fifty are enamoured of it. 1 never heard but

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 487

two people express a decided aversion to it, one
was a rough sailor, and the other a nobleman,
whose taste was little worthy of imitation ; in gene
ral, men are as partial to it as women." They were
here interrupted by the entrance of a servant with
a letter fbr the Duchess ; it was from 'the young
Lady Ellincourt, and contained the following dis
tressing intelligence :

" My dearest Fanny,

" Do not upon receipt of this, be too much
alarmed. Lady Ellincourt, the mother of my
Edmund, our thrice dear and valuable friend, is
dying ! She has been indisposed for some days,
but is now considerably worse. She requests to
see you immediately ; we are all distracted ! The
thoughts of losing such a woman, such a mother,
such an ornament to her sex, is afflicting in the
extreme. Yet the loss will be only ours, she will
exchange an earthly tabernacle for aheavenly one,
this barren spot of land for an eternal kingdom,
where the wicked cease from troubling ; where
immortal pleasure reigns, and sorrow there no
entrance finds. • This blissful consideration is alj
that consoles us at her departure — all did I say,
will it not be the greatest of consolations, that
which God himself dictates. Oh! Fanny, were
we all as secure of happiness in the celestial courts,
as the amiable Lady Ellincourt, how few would
dread to die. I cannot proceed any further ; if
you can reach Pemberton Abbey soon, you may
enjoy the mournful satisfaction of a parting inter
view with her who 1 know you so greatly respect.
" I am, dearest Fanny,

" Your unhappy friend,

"EMILY ELLINCOURT."

Tears flowed fast down the cheeks of the
Duchess as she perused this epistle. She gave it

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

into the hands of Lady Mornington, for she could
not communicate its contents. She warmly sym
pathized in her sorrow. Presently the Duke re
turned with Sir Everard. On hearing what had
happened, he proposed to set out as speedily as
possible for the Abbey, " If we delay," said he,
" we may be too late to behold our worthy friend
once more. Sir Everard and Lady Mornington,
will, I am sure, in such an emergency as this, ex
cuse our absence ; we shall probably return in the
course of a few days," " Most certainly," replied
they, " we should be very sorry if we were to be
an obstruction." "- 1 hope," said Amelia, " Lady
Ellincourt is not quite so bad as is represented, at
least that she may recover." " I am afraid," an
swered Fanny, " that that hope is vain, yet can
not help myself indulging it."

The carriage being now at the door, the Duke
and Duchess took leave of their guest, and set
off with woe-fra,ught hearts for Pembertou
Abbey <

CHAPTER L.

Death of the Dowager Lady Ellincourt, and
mutual condolences.

WHEN they arrived at the Abbey, a melancholy
scene, indeed, awaited them. Lady Ellineourt,
they were informed, still lived, but a few hours

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 489

•^

were expected to terminate her existence. Emily
came, in tears, from her apartment to meet them ;
she seized Fanny's hand, and prest it to her lips,
exclaiming, " The last time we met, our hearts
were the mansions of joy ; now, alas ! they are the
inmates of afflicting grief," The Duchess could
hardly articulate a reply, so overcome was she
with the poignant weight of her feelings. " I will
go and apprise her that you are come," said Emily,
" it will be a source of pleasure to her to behold
her beloved Fanny once again. " She is then per
fectly sensible ? asked our heroine. " Oh yes,"
replied Lady Ellincourt, " her mind has never
been alienated for a moment ; she anticipates her
departure with feelings of ecstatic rapture, such
as can only be tasted by those whose consciences
are purified by the influence of the Holy Spirit."
(( I am rejoiced to hear she is so resigned," said
Fanny, " goodness like hers, emanating from reli-*
gious sentiments has nought to fear on that day —
which to the sinful sin-loving children of vice and
folly, is a day of terror. No, to those who look
towards the joys of heaven through the merits of
the Redeemer, the approach of the grim tyrant
carries no terror, he is rather hailed as a friend that
relieves them of the load of mortality ; takes them
out of this state of trial and temptation, places
them where they are secure from both, and be
stows immortality as glorious as it is lasting."

Emily hastened to her chamber, and presently
returned, desiring she would walk up. The Duke
meanwhile was asked into a parlour, where sat
Lord Ellincourt and Mr. Hamilton. Woe was
painted on the countenances of both ; they rose,
and mournfully saluted him ; he endeavoured to-
express his emotion, but his looks were a more
faithful prognosticator. Lord Ellincourt, no longer
gay and sprightly, burst into tears, as he exclaimed,,

490 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" There are no hopes." " No hopes from mortal
aid, perhaps," replied the Duke, "but God can yet
restore her." " If it is His gracious will," ejacula
ted Lord Ellincourt. " And if not," returned the
Duke, " he will receive her to His imperial courts
— wafted by cherubic legions to the heavenly
coast, a ministering angel she will shine, and there
irradiate the starry globe." " Oh, she has ever
been the best of women and of mothers," cried
Lord Ellincourt, " her portion must be endless
bliss." " Then let that sweet reflection prove a
consolation at once," answered the Duke and Mr.
Hamilton, " we lose her, but she will gain the
bright reward of all her actions."

Whilst these friends were mutually condoling
with each other, the Duchess accompanied Emily
to the chamber of Lady Ellincourt. As she en
tered, a cold tremor seized her frame; the thought
of how recently its occupant had been in the en
joyment of good health, and was now expiring,
chilled her blood. Recovering her resolution,
however, she approached the bed. As soon
as Lady Ellincourt perceived her, she extended
her hand, saying, " Oh, my beloved Fanny, I
am glad you are come. Why do you weep ?"
continued she, observing the tears roll down her
cheeks, " is it because I am hastening to the
palace of the Eternal, the seat of righteousness ?
Jf you knew the inward tranquillity that lodges
here, (pointing to her heart,) instead of tears,
smiles would illumine that lovely countenance." "I
would hope, oh, thou friend and guardian of my
early infancy," returned Fanny, " that many years
are yet reserved for you on earth." " Dear girl, 'tis
almost cruel," answered the dying Lady Ellin-
court, " to desire such a procrastination of my
happiness; it was intended by our wise Creator
when he formed us out of kindred dust, that to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 491

that dust our mortal bodies should return — but
our souls will, we are instructed to believe, ascend
to the presence of their Heavenly Judge, or des
cend into a place prepared for the devil and his
angels ! as soon as breath should have left this
frail tenement of clay. I have long anticipated
the moment of departure, and I am convinced it
is nigh at hand. I had but one wish — it was to
see you ; that wish is gratified, and I die content.
You have always been the object of my tender af
fections. When first I saw you, a sweet, and, as
I imagined, an orphan girl, I felt an interest in
your welfare that was indescribable, and an in
ward conviction that your extraction would one
day be proved to be noble ; it was not a false
conjecture, the transports I experienced on the
discovery of your parents are not to be expressed ;
they resulted from the ardent sincerity of my re
gard, and when I beheld your vows given at the
altar to the Duke of Albemarle, I rejoiced with
joy unfeigned. You are worthy to possess such a
husband, and he is deserving even of your inesti
mable self ; but is he at the Abbey, or have you
taken this journey alone ?" "He is with my father
and Lord Ellincourt," said Fanny. Emily, who
was sitting by the bed-side, asked, " if she would
wish to see the Duke ?" " I am afraid," replied
Fanny, " that Lady Ellincourt will be fatigued by
conversing so much." " Oh, no," answered she,
" I like to converse, I am better whilst discoursing
with my friends ; let me, I entreat thee, see the
husband of this angel fair, and bless them together
'ere I depart to the kingdom that is prepared for
me on high." Emily then retired to acquaint the
Duke with Lady Ellincourt's desire. He instantly
hurried to her chamber. She took his hand and
putting it in Fanny's, said, " May the Almighty
bless and preserve you both — may you long be
spared to make each other happy, and when at

492 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

last death shall receive you in her cold embrace^
may the knot that binds you still be undissolved ;
it is ratified above, and angels will confirm youf
vows." The Duke was sensibly affected by the
fervency of this address. " Amen to that prayer,
dearest Lady Ellincourt," said he, " and may it
be answered." Fanny regarded him with a look
of bewitching tenderness. " Amiable pair," said
Lady Ellincourt, observing them attentively, "it
is heaven on earth to love and be beloved. Kind
souls, how you weep, and yet it is not kindness,
since it would induce you to wish my bliss de
layed. Emily, my child, comfort them if you can.
Alas ! you are as distressed as they are." Here
Lord Ellincourt entered. He inquired with anxious
solicitude, if she felt any change. " The best of
changes," replied she, " I am every moment
nearer to my God ; His judgment-seat is already
in my view, already have 1 obtained a glance of
his incorruptible glories. Edmund," she conti
nued, taking his hand and joining it to Emily's,
" promise me that you will always love this dear,
this excellent creature : I could not with pleasure
have seen you united to another, but she is worthy
of you." " Oh, if I love her not with the affec
tion her merits so richly deserve," answered
Lord Ellincourt, " if I regard her not as a trea
sure sent to create my felicity, and while life re
mains, reward her with an attachment the most
ardent; may 1 never approach the throne to which
thou,my revered, respected parent, art hastening."
On which he warmly embraced the charming
Emily, who returned his caresses with kindred
feelings. The agony which Fanny's mind endured
for Lady Ellincourt, had hitherto prevented her
from asking after her mother ; that worthy woman
had never left the bed-side of her aunt for two
days before, but had at length been prevailed on
to retire for an hour to her chamber, on condi-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 493

tion that she should be disturbed in case of the
smallest alteration taking place. She now ap
peared. The sight of her weeping Fanny illu
mined her countenance with a momentary joy.
She ran to her embrace ; but her transports sub
sided, on perceiving the countenance of Lady
Ellincourt turn suddenly to an ashy paleness; they
flew to her. She had swooned ; it was not, how
ever, the swoon of death. She presently revived.

" Where is my nephew?" she demanded. " He
is not here." Mr. Hamilton was sent for — they
all surrounded her bed. " What a happiness,"
cried sfce, as an angelic smile played upon her
features, " to die in the midst of relations such as
these. Oh ! when your last moments approach,
may every one of you be as composed and as
resigned as I am ; a greater blessing the divine
favour cannot bestow upon you. Death! my chil
dren, is only an evil to the wicked ; we are all
guilty creatures, and, at best, but unprofitable
servants ; but then the Lord is too merciful not to
pardon, his graciousness is beyond our compre
hension, and happy is it for usx when we know
that he is gracious. My beloved neice," said she,
addressing Mrs. Hamilton, " you have experi
enced affliction's smart — you have been separated
for above twenty years from the husband of your
early choice, and made to deplore the imaginary-
loss of an only child ; you are now restored to the
arms of the best of men, and of daughters ; may
it be long, my Emily, 'ere you are deprived of
either of these dear relations-^-doubly dear, from
having been torn from you under such inauspicious
circumstances ; may the remainder of your days
be spent in the enjoyment of tranquillity, and
when the ransoming debt of nature is paid, may
we meet in realms of joy." "We shall all meet, I
trust," answered Mrs. Hamilton, "and, oh, how
glorious a meeting will it be ; not as mortals shall

21. 3n

494 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

we congratulate each other, but as heavenly gpirif s
released from slavery and bondage." " This
world," said Mr* Hamilton, " can produce only
one solid gratification, that is, the love and the
esteem of those attached to us by the ties of blood ;
or what is nearly as binding, friendship ; wealth,
titles, honors, arc not to be ranked in competition
with a reciprocation of tender offices from those
about us ; all that can call forth a sigh at leaving
this earthly abode, is the parting with our rela
tives and friends; yet it is but parting for a mo
ment, and 'ere long we shall meet to part no more.
There, surrounded by the beatified spirits of those,
who, through a merciful and gracious Saviour,
have entered into the regions of eternal bliss, our
kindred souls, released from their clay tenements,
will meet — recognise — and refined from the gross-
ness of earthly feelings, rise to the highest altitude
of friendship, love and joy. Oh! how these
thoughts exalt the soul ; how, even on this earth
do 1 taste by anticipation, the joys of heaven ;
our loss will be your gain — your eternal gain. This
dispensation must be right; 'tis from God ; be
reconciled to His swill, remembering that life is
His gift, and death His messenger."

" Your sentiments accord with the worthy Dr.
Woodward's," replied Lady Ellincourt, " he
maintains the same opinion, and it has ever been
mine. Human nature will be human nature. I
acknowledge, that I cannot restrain a pang;, when
I think of leaving you ; but it is wrong, since I
die assured of rejoining you in the paradise of
the saints."

Thus spoke this excellent woman, this pattern
for her sex to follow. She would have proceeded
to say more, but they begged she would, for the
present, endeavour to gain some repose, and not
weary herself by farther conversation. She was
at last persuaded, and laying dawn, fell into a

THE UTTLli MENDICANT. 495

slumber that continued two hours; this, it was
hoped, would cause a favorable change when she
awoke, but in that hope they were disappointed ;
it was only the prelude to her dissolution. Dr.
Woodward had now joined the family. He had
long known Lady Ellincourt, and to know, was
to esteem her. Since her illness, he was frequent
in his visits; the conversations of a really pious
and good man are ever acceptable, and they were
peculiarly so at this period ; his presence seemed
to increase her satisfaction. She looked around
her, and smiled serenity ; her speech never forsook
her. " God bless you, my children," said she,
" recollect, I bid you but a short adieu." A few
moments having passed, growing rather paler, she
said, " I come, I obey thy sacred mandate, my
Saviour and my Lord !" and, reclining her head on
the shoulder of Mr. Hamilton, she heaved a gentle
sigh, and expired ; one hand clasped in that of
her niece, the other in Lady Ellincourt's. Happy,
enviable exit; who would not wish to die in such
a frame as her's; and to die surrounded by such
affectionate relations was a tenfold source of
ecstacy. She was not afflicted with any parti
cular complaint. The primary cause of her indis
position, was the grief she sustained at the loss of
her daughter ; that, together with the other accu
mulation of shocks she received, brought on a
decline, which occasioned her demise. To des
cribe the sorrow of these amiable individuals would
be impossible ; severe was their loss ; long they
wept over the departed. Mrs. Hamilton closed
her eyes, and embraced her for the last time ; the
Duchess of Albemarle likewise pressed her lips to
those of the deceased, as did also Emily. The
mournful scene being past, they withdrew from
the awful chamber of death to a farther apart
ment ; and it was long 'ere any of them could
find words to address each other. At length

496 FATHERLESS .FANNY ; OR,

i

they offered a mutual condolement. Dr. Wood
ward opened the discourse, by expatiating on the
goodness of her, who from a woman, was trans
formed into an etherial spirit. " Conceive, my
children, "said he, " if mortals dare conceive, the
state of bliss to which she is raised. Mortality
shaken off, and she is arrayed in robes of righte
ousness — let her piety, her exalted worth console
you." " It will, it must," saiclMr. Hamilton,
" the violence of our emotion over, and reflection
will bring comfort to our aid." " We had vainly
flattered ourselves with a hope," cried Mrs. Hamil
ton, " that so valuable a life would have been
longer continued to us, as she had but just com
pleted her sixtieth year; but God's will be done,
he has seen fit to remove her from a troublesome
world, and translated her to his celestial kingdom,
and we must not repine."

Thus passed this day of grief, a day that would
ever be held sacred by the family of this deserving
woman. When we think of the immense sums
which the affluent so wantonly lavish in the pomp
of retinue, equipage, and dress ; when we see the
quantity of viands which form the dinner of one
epicure in high life ; and consider how many poor
families the price of this expensive entertainment
might, if properly applied, redeem from the hor
rors of famine ; can we, for an instant, wonder
that the poor should with indignation look on
them while living, and follow them with apathy
and more than silent curses to the tomb. The
rich wonder that they are unhappy, yet are igno
rant of the cause ; they become more extravagant,
and then expect felicity — fatal mistake ! When
on the bed of sickness, when their pale faces are
turned towards the wall, and death, that grim
monster, approaches in all his terrors, neither
the prayers of the fatherless or the widow
are offered to a throne of grace in their behalf.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 497

When they die they are unlamented ; the sigh of
heartfelt sorrow — the tear of gratitude — the warm,
yet melancholy glow of admiration, all — all, are
absent.

But those who to riches unite benevolence, to
rank condescension, and in exalted stations be
come accessible to the calls of humanity, are
loved and revered during life; when dead they
are deplored with the tenderness of friendship ;
and their memory cherished with delight. Thus
was it with Lady Ellincourt; from the lowest
domestic of her establishment, to the highest
nobles of her acquaintance. It might well be said
of her, that she was a Christian indeed.

The next morning, the Duke of Albemarle
quitted Pemberton Abbey. The Duchess could
not think of leaving her parents and the Ellin-
courts till their sorrow was a little abated. She
wrote a note to Lady Mornington, apologizing for
continuing absent from her, but representing it was
a duty owing to the memory of the deceased,
and to the feelings of the survivors, to remain
with them till after the funeral. She concluded,
by desiring that she would consider Darby House
as hers, and act as the mistress of it. The Duke
conveyed this epistle ; it was received by Lady
Mornington, with much concern. She knew how
deeply Her friend was affected, and she partici
pated in her woe. The amiable Lady Ellincourt
would have excused the attendance of Fanny, in
consideration of her personal feelings ; but the
Duchess of Albemarle never studied her own
feelings, when there was a probability of contri
buting to the ease of another. Death was a me
lancholy scene, yet she forgot the pain it occa
sioned to herself in the pleasure it afforded to
the soul of the departed ; had Lady Ellincourt
died without seeing her, she could never have
been happy. Those who regard the sufferings of

498 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

the living, and let them operate so as to prevent
their granting consolation to the last moments of
the dying, prove themselves divested of the very
feelings they would boast of possessing ; as the
sensations they would experience would be only
a horror at thinking of the grave, and that they
must shortly be as the object then before them ;
not the dictates of nature acting within them, or
they would prefer the tranquillity of those who
bad but a few hours to survive, to their own.
About three days had elapsed from the death of
Lady Ellincourt, when Mrs. Barlowe, the mother
of Emily, paid a visit of condolence to the afflicted
inhabitants of Pemberton Abbey ; this lady came
not so much to partake in the general grief, and
pour the balm of comfort into the heart of her
daughter, as from a curiosity to see the Duchess
of Albemarle, of whose beauty she had heard
much talk. She had been extremely mortified
upon the marriage of the lovely Fanny, whom her
proud spirit had hoped to find indeed an orphan,
and of no consequence ; the discovery of her
birth, and the eclat she afterwards made in the
fashionable world, instead of creating pleasure
in the bosom of this haughty woman, raised her
spleen to a powerful degree. " A nobody," said
she, " a creature but yesterday dependent upon
the charity of the public, all of a sudden to be
noticed by a man in such a high sphere, and
caressed like one of the first ladies in the land. I
dare say it is all a fudge about her mother being
a descendant of the Somertowns, hatched up by
the artful wench herself, and some of the syco
phants whom she has persuaded to believe the
idle tale, and then report it abroad ; 1 am not so
easily duped. My daughter Emily, silly girl, was
always prejudiced in favor of the chit, but she
takes after her father. Poor man, he will not
come to an ignominious end for setting the Thames

THE LITTLE MKNDlCANT. 499

on fire.'* This ridiculous discourse was held with
one of her female associates, whose ignoble ideas
corresponded with her own. " Yet methinks,"
said she, " I should like to obtain a peep at the
doll they make such a parade with. I reckon
myself a judge of, beauty, and none can render
it more justice," pursued the arrogant Mrs. Bar-
lowe. " Ah, but," replied Mrs. Godolphin, with
a satirical smile, "if report tells truth, you would
have no room to criticise there, for she is the per
fect paragon of feminine charms." " Then she is
more than ever woman was before her," resumed
Mrs. Barlowe, trying to screw up her mouth, that
was naturally of a prodigious length, and grinning
with malicious spite. The passion of curiosity,
however, dwells more or less in women ; she
grew more and more inquisitive to behold our
heroine, but it was not a laudable inquisitiveness;
had she been in the habit of going into public,
she might have seen her frequently ; but Mr.
Barlowe, being of a very different turn from her
self, he was fond of a retired life, and she was
constrained to affect an accordance with his
principles, though she inwardly despised them.
When Lady Ellincourt died, and the Duchess
was at the Abbey, she thought she had a fair
opportunity of having a sight of her. Accord
ingly she came, and was introduced to Fanny.
She addressed her with an air of complaisance,
and after pretending to sympathise withner in the
loss she had sustained, she said, " Your Grace
was, if I recollect, the companion of my daughter
at school." The Duchess answered in the affir
mative, adding, "that she had been so happy to
engage the early affections of her dear Emily,
and. that she now possest her warmest friendship."
Mrs. Barlowe surveyed her from top to toe, and
felt the bitterest envy rankling in her soul, as she
could not help acknowledging that she was the

500 FATHERLESS FAXXY ; OK,

most beautiful of women, though she in the same
instant was angry with herself for making the de*
claration. The Duchess was far from being prepos
sessed in her favour; there was nothing to attract
in her deportment ; but, as the mother of her be
loved Emily, she wished to treat her with respect,
and, if possible, to try to esteem her ; the latter
point it was not so easy to succeed in, the former
could be no difficulty to the refined manners of
the polished Duchess of Albemarle. To Mrs.
Hamilton she was civil, but no more ; they were
both too handsome to share an interest in the
heart of a woman resembling; Mrs. Barlowe.

^5

She did not make a very long stay. She had ac-,
complished her desire, and maternal tenderness
was not strong enough to induce her to prolong
her visit. So singularly depraved was this un
happy being, that because her husband had ex
tolled the charms of Lady Albemarle, and she
knew sometimes called at Darby House, she had
not hesitated to suspect, and even accuse him of
harbouring an improper attachment for her. It
is needless to state that he despised so gross an
insinuation. To say that he loved his wife, would
be to assert almost an impossibility, as her dis
position was too unamiable to either love, or admit
of being loved ; but to say that he was a good
husband is no more than strictly the truth ; he
indulged his lady in every thing that her caprice
demanded as to dress, and keeping what company
she pleased : the only restraint was her abstaining
from public places. She had plenty of money,
and no man was ever more constant. His charac
ter has been admired, respecting the lovely, once
Fatherless Fanny. His conduct concerning her
was noble, and now that her history was revealed,
he participated in the universal joy that was mani
fested on the occasion. He was himself a father,
therefore could conceive a father's feelings on

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. .501

discovering a beloved child. But Mrs. Barlowe,
though a mother, was unsusceptible to every soft
emotion; avarice, pride, and ambition were the
ruling passions in her breast. After her interview
with the Duchess, the latter retired to her apart
ment, and the rest of the melancholy inhabitants
of Pemberton Abbey, having performed their
evening's orisons, separated for the night.

CHAPTER LI.

*£he Funeral — Goodness of Lord Ellincourt,
and most curious surprise.

NOTHING of any importance occurred from this
period till the day on which the funeral of the
departed Lady Ellincourt was to be solemnized.
On that day the robes of grief were wide dis
played ; they added to the sombre appearance of
the Abbey, and its now forlorn possessors — every
eye streamed with tears — every heart was the habi
tation of woe. The long avenues to the house
were crowded by a concourse of attendants, who
were to follow the weeping procession. The bell
began its deep funeral knell. Twelve carriages
were occupied with the relations and particular
friends of the deceased. In the first were Lord
Ellincourt, Mr. Hamilton, the Duke of Albemarle,
and Mr. Barlowe. Lord Mountmorris went alone ;
in no face were the tokens of sorrow expressed
stronger than in his. She was the only friend to
22. 3s

502 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

whom he could pour forth his complaints, and
find a soothing balm ; in her he lost his every
consolation. Fifty carriages . belonging to the
nobility and gentry followed the mourners. The
servants of the lamented Lady Ellincourt, and
the poor who had often experienced the effects of
her bounty, formed a cavalcade on each side ;
crowds of attendants closed the melancholy train.
The whole was conducted with elegant magnifi
cence, but suitable decorum. It was a mile and
a half to the Abbey Church, whither they slowly
proceeded. She was interred in the family vault,
and a splendid mausoleum was erected to her
memory, on which was engraved the following
inscription : —

Here lieth, the last mortal relics
of Louisa Frances, Lady Dowager Ellincourt,
who departed this life, in the 60th year of her age,
on Monday, September 9th, in the year of our Lord 1780.
She was adored by her numerous relations for the many emi
nent virtues by which her character was distinguished,
and esteemed by a large circle of acquaintance.
To the poor an universal friend ; the defender
of the fatherless, and comforter of the
widow. Peace eternal be to her '

sacred Mane?.

O ! 'scap'd from life ! O ! safe on that calm shore,
Where sin, and pain, and passion, are no more !
What never wealth ooiild buy, nor power decree,
Regard and Pity wair sincere on thee :
So soft remembrance drops a pious tear,
And holy friendship stands a mourner here.

The last mournful obsequies were performed
by the Rev. Dr. Woodward, who gave out, that
on the next Sabbath he should preach her funeral
sermon, when her relatives would then be able to
attend. The ceremony was truly grand and im
pressive ; it seemed to inspire those assembled on
the occasion with sentiments of awe and reverence
they were unaccustomed to feel ; being at an end,
they returned in the same order they had set out.
The ladies of the family awaited their arrival in

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

an apartment where they had met together to
condole, and the day was spent in tears and
lamentations. Mrs. Barlowe had been invited ;
she would gladly have declined the invitation, but
as her husband was one of the mourners, and she
stood in a degree of relationship to the Ellincourts,
she could not very well refuse ; there was no dan
ger of her spirits being affected, for they were
impregnable to the finer feelings.

Thus passed a week, and on Sunday tbe whole
party repaired to church, to hear the funeral ser
mon of the beloved Lady Ellincourt. Dr. Wood
ward eulogized with much feeling, warmth, and
pathos, on the merits of her who nad so recently
been committed to the cold silent tomb : he des
cribed her as the pattern of female excellence ;
and proposed her as an example for the fair sex.
Not a dry eye was to be seen, during this com
mentary on the virtues of a woman so much res
pected by those who knew her. Her sweet affable
deportment had secured her the affections of
every class ; and to prove whether a person is
really worthy of estimation, is to enquire into the
character they bear amongst the poor; if they
speak with energy of their past amiable qualities,
and drop a tear o'er their graves, we cannot doubt
that they were d eser ving o f the applause bestowed .
But if the rich alone bewail their loss; if the
countenances of the poor are unmoved, and their
tongues are only exerted to declaim against the
deceased, rest assured, their goodness was only
in the name ; had it existed in the heart, gratitude
would have drawn a sigh from these dependants
on public bounty.

The service being over, the family returned to
the Abbey, and the next morning^ the Duke and
Duchess took leave 06 its beloved, at present, un
happy residents. They felt themselves neces?'

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

fated to hasten back to Darby House ; but they
promised in the course of a few weeks to pay
them another visit. The Duchess at parting,
embraced her mother and her dear Emily, and
implored them to be as reconciled as they could
to the Divine will. Lord Ellin court seemed, if
possible, to receive a larger share of affliction,
than even Mrs. Hamilton or Emily ; he had loved
his mother with an affection almost unequalled,
and his passions were of that ardent nature,
that they were not easily appeased — his native
good sense, however, was its own operator, as is
often the case. Arguments held with ourselves
frequently prove more efficacious than those dic
tated by another. He evinced every public as
well as private respect to the memory of his re
vered relative ; he retained all the old domestics
who had served in the family, for a number of
years, except one; that was the butler Mr.
Norris, who had been in that capacity upwards of
forty years> and was now turned of four-score ;
by reason of his infirmities, he was incapable of
holding it any longer, and he begged permission
to retire. Lord Ellin court told him, tnat he was
sensible, at his age, it was very unfit he should
have any office to think of, but that he had acted
with so much prudence and propriety, ever
since he had been in the service of Lady Ellin-
court, that if he liked his situation, he was
welcome to remain in it, without undergoing
any farther fatigue. " No, my Lord," said the
poor man, overjoyed at such a mark of favor,
« you are the best of gentlemen, and I shall
always in gratitude be bound to pray for you :
but I cannot endure the idea of becoming a bur
then to so good a master — if I am past doing
service, I will not be an encumbrance. I have,
by my industry, amassed wages enough to sup
port me decently for the little while 1 have to live*

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. .505

but I will endeavour to stay and make myself as
useful as I can till your lordship has secured
another servant." " Honest creature, said Lord
Ellincourt, " well may they say, ( honesty is its
own reward,' since no jewel is equal to it." He
did not apprise him of his intentions concerning
him, as he feared, his upright principles would
defeat his purpose, but consenting to his wishes
he dismissed him. As soon as he had quitted his
presence this worthy nobleman ordered his car
riage, and taking a ride round the country, he
fixed his eye upon a cottage, pleasantly situated;
it was to let. He alighted, and surveyed it; it con
sisted of two apartments on the ground floor, a
comfortable bed-room up stairs, a good kitchen,
a pantry, a cow-house, and a large garden, well
stocked with vegetables. He instantly hired it on
reasonable terms, and returned home, his heart
considerably lightened of its weight of sorrow,
by reflecting that he had contributed to the
welfare of a fellow creature. He then wrote to
London to his banker, ordering him to make over
the sum of fifty pounds per annum to the said
Thomas Norris. Having so acted, he acquainted
this valuable servant with what he had done for
him. " You tell me, my friend," said he," that
you have saved money. I am glad to hear it,
but although you have no wife surviving, you may
have some dear relative, that you could wish to be
kind to, or to leave a trifle of money at your de
cease. If so, preserve the fruits of your virtuous
industry. The pittance I have mentioned will
enable you to live ; you shall be rent free, and
you will find plenty of pigs, poultry, and kine
on the grounds of the cottage I design for you."
To describe the surprise, the grateful joy of
the faithful Norris. as he listened to this detail,
would be beyond the power of mortals; it pro
duced such an effect, that he fell prostrate at the

506 FATHERLESS FANNY ; Oil,

feet of his master,"and sobbed, unable to utter
a word. Lord Ellincourt, raised him from the
ground. " O, my master," he cried, " Oh, my
master." " Why are you thus affected," said his
Lordship, " have 1 done any thing more than
your long continued services and strict fidelity
gave you a title to expect? It is meet that years
should be rewarded for the labours of youth ;
you deserve to enjoy the comforts of life in your
latter days, and you shall enjoy them." So
saying, he warmly shook him by the hand, wish
ing he might be spared for some years, to inhabit
his rural abode. " You are indeed a man," re
plied Mr. Norris; " true, is the learned Mr. Pope's
observation, 'that worth makes the man, and want
of it the fellow.' You have proved your intrinsic
worth, by your benevolence to an aged man, and
sGod Almighty will I hope bless y our Lordship."
Lord Ellincourt quitted him, overwhelmed
with his prayers and thanks. Would you be loved
like him, study to behave like him ; not, that
study will form a heart, for if God has not been
pleased to give one, no mortal endeavours will
ever acquire it. The heart is the seat of either
virtue or vice. Knowledge lies in the brain —
but goodness, or its reverse, is in the breast of
man. The most sensible people are often the
most wicked ; for this reason, if they are disposed
to evil, being endued with a fine understanding,
they have double opportunities to do mischief;
an ignorant creature has not the power Of concert
ing schemes for the accomplishment of desperate
undertakings. But one possest of wisdom, if he
has devoted ,it to bad purposes, is crafty, full of
contrivance, and ready to aid in any plot for the
completion of his vile machinations. A very sen
sible person, of either sex, is generally extremely
amiable, or famed for avowed dishonour-*-seldom
do we observe them between the two extremes.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 507

Those who move in a middling direction, neither
rushing into guilt and idle dissipation, or living in
the practise of every virtue, are gifted, it is said,
with a moderate capacity, and not without honor
able principles. But it must be borne in memory,
that however some may strive to exalt such cha
racters, the half hearted injvirtue's cause, are more
to be dreaded, than those who plunge deepest
into every sink of vice and dissipation. Their
half formed and palliating principles conti
nually lay them open to temptation ; making them
more ready to listen to the suggestions of their
passions, than the voice of reason. He who is en
dowed with strong intellect, but perverts the gift
of the Creator to vile purposes, becomes known
to the world as a vicious character, and may be
avoided. The half virtuous — he who regulates
his vices by cold calculation, is as the snake in
the grass, and stings when all seems secure. The
moderately virtuous is in society what the luke
warm is in religion — where there are great parts,
there is a greater elevation of ideas; and they
must be either displayed in a good or a bad
cause.

The next action of Lord Ellincourt was to pro
vide for the poor parishioners, whom his mother
had rendered assistance to in their distress. For
several of them, he built some aim's houses, put
ting each family into possession of one; thus
making them perfectly comfortable for the re
mainder of their existences. In short, he was the
universal reliever of indigence, and the conde
scension with which he inquired into cases of ca
lamity, enhanced the value of his gifts tenfold.
About this time, a friend arrived from Paris, whom
he had not seen for ten years, having been hur
ried to that country, on business of the highest
importance. This was Sir Henry Ambersley. He
had negotiated the affair he .went upon, and now

508 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR,

returned, elated with his success. He hastened im
mediately to the Abbey, as he was impatient to see
Lord Elliucourt, tor whom he had a warm regard.
His joy was, however, a little damped, on learning
the loss he had sustained ; he condoled with him in
language most affecting. But on being acquainted
with his nuptials, and introduced to the lovely fair
whom he had chosen for his bride, he congratu
lated him on the blissful event, and wished him
many years of uninterrupted happiness. Sir Henry
Ambersley, was, I must inform my readers, not the
only person who had come from abroad, and was
desirous of an interview with Lord Ellincourt,
He was accompanied by a lady, who, though past
the prime of life, was still handsome. She had
long been tenderly attached to Lord Ellincourt,
and he had once loved her with an affection the
most fervent. Once, did I say ? it had never
been eradicated from his breast ; its strength had
rather been confirmed by their separation.

Methinks I see the reader start, look puzzled,
and perhaps, heave a sigh for poor Emily. Go on
my friends, be assured poor Emily is in no danger
of being made jealous by the allurements of this
innocent female, since she was neither more nor
less than the identical little Fanny whom his Lord
ship lost so many years before. She actually
came from France under the escort of Sir Henry.
By what means she was carried out of her native
land is bye-and-bye to be told. Sir Henry had in
tended to have a bit of fun about the dog before he
introduced her to his Lordship ; but finding this
to be an unseasonable period for jokes, he, after the
most important conversation was over, asked him
" if he had forgot the little animal they had once
had such sport about ?" " No," answered he, " I
have not forgotten her, I have often wished 1 could
find her ; but I despair of it after such a length of
time." " Do not despair," said Sir Henry, " for I

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 509

have found her, and can restore her to you." " Are
you hoaxing me ?" returned Lord Ellincourt,
viewing him attentively. " No, indeed," replied
Sir Henry, " this is not a time for hoaxing. I
have really got the dog," and he rang the bell for a
servant. On one appearing, he ordered him to
go to his carriage, and bring the spaniel that was
in it. He obeyed. As soon as he entered with
her, the animal, who knew her master, sprang out
of his arms, and fell down at the feet of Lord
Ellincourt in a fit. She was instantly picked up,
and presently restored to animation ; on which she
was caressed by her master in the kindest manner.
She wagged her tail, and began to exhibit every
sign of exultation. There is no quadruped so sa
gacious as dogs ; — they never forget good treat
ment, and as seldom remember bad. They are
noble and loving in their dispositions, fraught with
the most acute sensibility, and ready on every oc
casion to testify their zeal in our cause. Lord
Ellincourt became eager to know the story of the
little Fanny, and how she had been conveyed
abroad. " Do you remember," said Sir Henry,
" Jack Robertson, the servant whom you dismissed
a few months before I embarked for France, on
suspicion of purloining plate ; but the fact was
never clearly proved ?" " Very well," answered
Lord Ellincourt. " He then stole your dog," re
sumed Sir Henry. " 1 cannot say whether he was
a plunderer in any thing else or not ; but knowing
your attachment to it, a brutal desire of revenge
for the impeachment of his character, as he termed
it, prompted him to deprive a defenceless animal
of her projector. He took her to France, and had
been there four months when I reached that place.
I was no stranger either to the persons of the ser
vant or the dog, therefore immediately identified
them both. He strove to evade my questions, but
could not dispute my authority as to Fan. When
22. 3 T

510 FATHERLESS FANNY ; Oil,

J called her by her name ; she shewed by her va
rious gesticulations that she understood me. In
short, I insisted upon his giving her up, or f would
expose him to the vindictive sentence of the law
for the robbery he had been accused of when in
England. He did not offer to justify his past con
duct, but quietly resigned the -dog. I would
willingly have returned to England without delay,
but it was impossible ; the nature of my affairs re
quired that I should continue abroad. I have
taken great care of Fanny however, and am glad
to find she knows your Lordship." Lord Ellin-
court thanked him for his considerate attention,
and again renewed his endearments to his favourite,
whose eyes sparkled with delight. The conversa
tion changed. Sir Henry asked " if Colonel Ross
was in London ?" " He is in heaven, or the other
place," answered Lord Ellincourt. Sir Henry
started. " It is very true," he resumed, and in
stantly related the manner of his death, with some
coincident circumstances attending it. Sir Henry
was much shocked on hearing so* sad an account.
" I always thought him a wicked fellow," said he,
"but I hoped that by this time he was reformed."
" I believe," replied Lord Ellincourt, " that his re
pentance was at last sincere, but he seemed to
nave devoted himself to destruction, and his beha
viour to my amiable cousin was barbarous to a de
gree." Surprised • as was Sir Henry at this rela
tion, there was an event that remained to be un
folded to him of a far more astonishing nature ;
this was the history of the lovely Fanny who had
been the occasion of so much merriment. Lord
Ellincourt revealed the story of her birth, and her
union with the Duke of Albemarle, concluding, by
affirming her to be the most deserving of women.
f I am amazed, indeed," returned Sir Henry, " yet
I must confess there was an air of dignity in her,
<pyen then, that denoted something more than drdi-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

nary ; is she as beautiful as when a child ?" " Fifty
times more so, if that can be imagined," cried Lord
Ellincourt, with energy. " She is divinely hand
some, but it is her mind, Ambersley, that ha*
raised her to her present station. My friend, the
tDuke of Albemarle, would never have married a
woman, let her beauty have been ever so transcen-
dant, had she not been endowed with those rarer
accomplishments that the mind produce. Personal
charms soon fade, but internal perfections are more
durable," " In troth they are," replied Sir
Henry, " but justly do you call them rare, for I
have proved them such. I was nearly being
caught myself whilst in Paris ; but, thank heaven,
1 escaped the noose." " Are you then heart-
whole as well as hand-whole ?" said Lord Ellin-
court. " I am," Sir Heilry resumed. " In my
travels I met with a young French woman, whose
bright attraction's quickly won upon my soul. I
paid my addresses to her: she returned my de
clarations of love, and we were on the eve of mar
riage. A few days, however, before the wedding
was appointed to take place, I had the good for
tune to hear that she was a noted woman of in
trigue, and wanted to get married to the first man
of rank who would make her the offer. I should,
therefore, have been the tool of her pleasures, in
stead of the husband of her choice. 1 call it good
fortune, because it preserved me from ruin. I in
stantly waited upon the lady, and told her 1 thought
she had great merit for her contrivances, but that
for once the biter had been bit. I had the honour
to be her jnost humble servant. She answered
me only with a contemptuous sneer, and I nerer
saw her after. I was very mortified, as you may
suppose, at being so nearly made the dupe of an
artful and designing female ; but 1 can assure you
that was the only sensation of concern I expe
rienced, I was not sufficiently in love, to break

FATHERLESS FANNY; OB,

my heart about the perfidy of my mistress." u I
cannot think," cried Lord Ellincourt, "what could
preposses you for a moment to have an idea of
marrying a foreigner, such plenty of English beau
ties as you may daily see." " Ah, but," said Sir
Henry, " 1 knew I was doomed to dwell on fo
reign shores for such a lapse of time, that I almost
feared I might die a bachelor ; and the bare
thought of that is insupportable. Whenever I
hear of a man dying single, unless he is quite a
youth, it occurs to me that there was something
so disagreeable in him no woman would venture
to accept him ; and now how shockingly one's va
nity would be humbled to have that said of one
after one's decease." Lord Ellincourt could hardly
forbear smiling at this discussion ; he, however,
congratulated his friend on his return to England,
and wished he might soon find a lady with whom
there might be a prospect of happiness in the ma
trimonial state. With this concluding observa
tion they for the present took leave.

CHAPTER LII.

Conclusion.

WHEN the Dwchess returned to Darby House,
Sir Everard and Lady Mornington were taking a
walk in the beautiful gardens that surrounded this
elegant mansion. Thither the Duke and his bride

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 513

hastened to meet them. Their first salutations
were mournful. Amelia's countenance wore not
the playful smile it was wont to do. Her friend
was unhappy, and she participated in her emotions
of grief. By degrees, however, affliction wears
away ; the sharpest sorrows grow less and less
acute, particularly those inflicted by death. God
has ordained that we should die, and if he pleases
to remove those we love best on earth, we nope it
is to inherit a crown of unfading; righteousness,

t^ ^3 *

and that should resign us to their departure.
There are a variety of evils which our own miscon
duct may have occasioned us to smart under. It
is not so easy to derive consolation under them, be
cause they have been our own seeking. But
death, even supposing it an evil we are not ac
countable for, to presume, however, to give it that
appellation, is to call the goodness of the Eternal
in question. On the contrary, it is the most signal
of the divine blessings. When the heart is op-
prest by a series of calamity ; when sickness, in
digence, and other accumulating trials nearly
weigh us to the ground, if we address the omnis
cient source of mightiness, if we consider him as a
being ready to redress our woes, and reflect, that
there is a heaven above to which we shortly shall
repair, our troubles will quickly be alleviated.
The only real comfort' we can derive, is, that a pe
riod must come, when we shall be delivered from
misfortune, and received into the presence of our
Lord. Our souls must surely thrill with trans
port at an idea so replete with ecstacy. The
more miserable our situation, the brighter our con
templation on the Deity, and his unspeakable glo
ries ; and the stronger our feelings of joy on anti
cipating a release from suffering.

To return to our subject. The amiable Lady
Mornington and her husband having staid a cou
ple of months at Darby House, took leave of their

FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

beloved friends, and repaired to London, though
not without evident regret, as they were made en
tire converts to their opinions, and fonder of the
country than ever they had been of the town.
The Duchess was now in a situation which pro
mised the house of Albemarle an heir, and all ne
cessary preparations were making for the birth of
the expected child, and all things wore the face of
joy. Grief for Lady Ellincourt gradually ab
sorbed into a reverential respect for her memory.

Pemberton Abbey became once more the seat of
festive mirth ; tears were banished, and smiles
usurped their place. Some months having elapsed,
Lady Ellincourt presented his Lordship an heir.
This event increased the happiness of all parties,
as it had long been fervently wished for. The
child ^vas christened Edmund after his father.
The lovely Fanny presented the Duke about the
same time with a daughter, the image of herself in
beauty ; that was called Emily, as it was her mo
ther's name, and her dear Lady Ellincourt's. They
received the congratulatory compliments of all the
nobility on these truly blissful occasions.

Lady Palmer, whose calamity must have drawn
forth the tear of universal compassion, became the
steady friend of Mrs. Hamilton, and of the Ellin-
court's. Time obliterated her sorrow for the loss
of her abandoned husband, though she never en
tirely forgot the sincerity with which she once had
loved him. Her tranquillity was in a measure re
stored, and her virtuousand praiseworthy character
secured the esteem of all who knew her. Lord
Mountm orris embraced the advice of his departed
friend, and procured an immediate divorce from
his lady, after which he retired into Wales, and
resided at a beautiful seat he held in that principa
lity. Here he strove to forget the charms of her •
who had seduced him to his ruin : but it was long
'ere he could tear her image from his retnem-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

brance. Her bewitching smile, her artful blan
dishments, when striving to captivate his heart, all
returned with resistless force upon his fond imagi
nation. He endeavoured, notwithstanding, to ef
face these impressions so destructive to his peace.
He dwelt upon her cruel indifference after they
were married, and the scandalous conduct she at
last displayed. On which, he taught himself by
slow degrees to despise her ; not to hate, for his
generous nature was incapable of that passion ;
but he abhorred her treachery, and detested her
principles. He was never perfectly happy, but the
rural joys of a country life contributed far more to
render him so, than the empty noise of the tumul
tuous town. There every thing conspired to re
mind him of the perfidious Charlotte. In the
former, his passions were calmed, and his reason,
had more scope for exertion.

We shall now say a few words concerning the
wicked authors of his wretchedness, and the fate
that attended their proceedings. On arriving in
Holland, this guilty pair ascribed no bounds to
their extravagant licentiousness ; their flame was
at its height, and they failed not to indulge it.
They loved, or thought they loved, and they ima
gined themselves in the possession of happiness ;
but soon they grew tired of each other. Sir Ri
chard was too versatile to be long attached to the
Same woman. There is as much variety in beauty,
as in the perfections of the mind ; he was some
times charmed with the lustre of a black eye — at
others, with the delicate softness of a blue one.
He began to manifest signs of indifference, that
her proud spirit could not brook. She accused
him of treating her with negligence. " Had you
the vanity to suppose, Madam," said he, " that
your captive once, would be your captive always ?
No, Lady Mountmorris, you may think yourself
lucky to have held me in chains till now ; a month

516 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

is a much longer period, than fashionables of our
stamp generally live together.

" I have captives enough in my train, 1 assure
you," scornfully uttered Lady M. " I do not
doubt it, Madam," answered Sir Richard, with a
look of sangfroid. " I well know, I was not the

first, your character " " Is better than yourX

Sir Richard, so prithee no more of that," inter
rupted the lady ; " was it for such an ungrateful
monster, I deserted my husband and my home?"
" Do not talk of ingratitude, Madam," vehe
mently replied Sir Richard, " your own breast
is its abode, or you would never have been what
you are." " I understand you, Sir," pursued
Lady M. " you wish already to get rid of me ;
no matter, I have as little regard for you, as you
can have for me. I had a very handsome offer
yesterday, from the Duke of Carlisle, and I shall
embrace it instantly. Good morning, Sir," and
courtesying gracefully, she tripped out of the
room. Sir Richard bowed his head, and thus our
lovers parted.

Her Ladyship ordered her carriage, and drove
to the house of the Du ke of Carlisle. He was
an English noble, but in Holland on business.
By him she was received with raptures. Angel,
goddess, common place words, were by turns be
stowed upon her. He had a wife and family in
England, and bore the name of living very happy
with them ; but this female fiend had seduced his
senses, and driven them away like a whirlwind.
She was soon, however, off his hands. Her next
gallant was Colonel Candeker, of the Light Corps.
From the time of her elopement from Lord Mount-
morris, she led for a twelvemonth, a life of de
pravity and vice ; at the end of that period, torn
by contending passions — the mind, as if wearied
of the storm, often relapsed into a calm. In those
moments, the gentle disposition of Mountniorris

TI*E LITTLE MENDICANT. 5l7

would be placed in competition with those of her
present lovers — if they were for a time profuse,
parsimony succeeded — but his generosity was
always the same — his love, if not ardent, was
steady — their's as the meteor's light illumined
but for a moment — deceived, and left the wretch
who expected felicity in their smiles, a poor
.forlorn outcast. Did she desire to mix in that
society, which from her earliest infancy she had
been used to frequent — the vice which she had
plunged into, barred the doors of virtue, discre
tion, and good fame against her. Was it so in
those days, when Mountmorris by her side, was as
a passport to the most elevated families ? Oh no,
distracting thought — I hare abused his confi
dence. I have wounded his peace. 1 have lost
my own reputation, and involved him in my shame.
Oh, God ! Hush ! There is no Superior Being-
Sir Richard told me so — curses light upon thy
head, Palmer — Oh, thou hast robbed me of hope
— thcHi hast made me a wretch indeed. The last
resource of the troubled spirit, is religion — tbou
hast made me doubt its reality. If thy argu
ments are fallacious, I am undone, soul and body
are doomed to eternal torment. — Oh, how I dread
to prove — is there a hell. A cold shivering
seized her, the thought was fraught with horror,
and she sunk lifeless on the Hoor. The noise of liei
fall called in the owners of the house in which
she had apartments ; for a time, they thought the
vital spark had fled, and after applying the usual
remedies, however, animation returned. Her eyes
wildly gazing, seemed to enquire if she had
thrown off the mortal coil. " Where am I ?"
said she, in a fearful faultering voice. " Safe,"
answered her host. " Safe," cried she, in ec-
stacy, and bounding from the sofa, exclaimed,
" then I am in hell—Oh no ! Thank you, 1113
friends, I have been ill, T am better now — send my
22, 3x

318 FATHERLESS FANNY; OU,

woman to me." " Your woman," said the hostess;
" she has set off in the Diligence this morning,
and I thought your ladyship knew of it; I helped
her myself to pack up the boxes." " The boxes,"
said Lady Mountmorris, " the boxes ! now I am
miserable indeed. Leave me," continued she, "I
have something ef importance to do before I fol
low her." They retired. And now the phrenzy
of passion seized her: — the lovely countenance,
which once pleased and astonished, was now filled
with horror ; and that eye which was once the
seat of a thousand loves, became the habitation of
despair. She was now robbed of every resource —
her money, her valuables, her trinketsgone,stolen
by her whom she thought loved her, whom she
expected was bound by every tie of gratitude and
honour. " Honour! ha! honour! when! had none
myself, how could I expect it in her. Mount-
morris, no — Palmer, to you — we shall meet again,"
said she, while all the haggard furies appeared
disputing for the ascendancy in her once fair face;
then seizing a phial, she emptied it to the very
dregs : — 'twas poison. " Ha, ha !" with a hectic
laugh, " tis done." And now the subtle poison
works, and nature, unable to resist, sinks beneath
its powers. Poor lost child of passion ! thou
soughtest pleasure, and in its eager pursuit passed
the object. She is gone with all her catalogue
of crimes unrepented of to face the awful pre
sence of her Maker. Such was the end of the
young, handsome, gay, attracting lady Mount
morris. That of Sir Richard was scarcely less
shocking. Whilst his vile paramour was revelling
in guilty pleasures, he was forming add itional plans
for the destruction of more victims. He had made
a resolution never to return to his wife : and for
several months he continued in the paths of liber
tinism. At last, Almighty vengeance overtook
him. He had concerted a project for the seduc-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 519

tion of a lovely girl, and had nearly accomplished
it, by professing to address her with views of mar
riage : his real designs were discovered by the
brother of the maiden — he challenged him, and
they fought. Sir Richard was mortally wounded,
but no fault could be imputed to his antagonist.
We shall, however, leave this subject, and pro
ceed to the other characters, as it is necessary we
should be brief.

Lady Ballafyn did not long survive the loss
of her Lord ; his injurious treatment, and disgrace
ful exit, nearly broke her heart ; — she expired in
the arms of the beet of mothers. The Marquis
and Marchioness of Petersfield soon followed ;
they were rather advanced in years, and the mis
fortunes of their belovedMaria, overpowered them .
Their remaining daughter, Lady Isabella, married
the Earl of Somerset. She has been represented
as proud and haughty ; but the afflictions her
family had met with, subdued her spirit. She made
an excellent wife, and her manners became soften
ed and refined.

Mrs. Barlowe, the imperious Mrs. Barlowe,
after tyrannizing over all with whom she had any
power for a number of years, died suddenly in an
apoplectic fit. The worthy Mr. Barlowe lived to
a great age, and continued to be universally es
teemed. Their eldest daughter, Mrs. Cornel, lived
and died abroad. She was a woman without any
natural feelings; therefore, had not the smallest in
clination to re-visit her native clime, or to behold
the relations and friends of her early infancy.
She had one child, which was still-born. She was
as happy with her husband, as such women ge
nerally are ; he grudged her nothing, and as there
was no want of money, there was no discord with
them. Her sister, the amiable Emily, fully se
cured the affections of Lord Ellincourt,by her ten
der obliging assiduities, and the uniform tenor of
her conduct. They had several children, and

•52<) FATHERLESS FANNY; &t.

they educated them in the best manner. Our he
roines the charming Fanny, was likewise, blessed
by Providence with numerous pledges of their mu
tual love. She was an affectionate mother, and
her offspring inherited the virtues of their excel
lent parents. Would wives be happy, like Fanny,
let them study to behave as she did. Every man
is not a similar character to the Duke of Albe-
marle, but almost every man might be made to
resemble him in a degree, would women conform
to their tempers, and respect, as it deserves, the
matrimonial vow. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton lived
many years. to enjoy felicity, and thought them
selves amply recompensed for former trials, in pre
sent happiness, and the hope of future bliss. Sir
Henry Ambersley shortly married^Lady Margaret
Noland, a female of distinguished beauty and
sense, with whom he was very happy. Lady
Mornington, in about a year and a half after their
nuptials, presented SirEverard withtwins,alovely
boy and a girl. This couple grew more and more
domesticated; their time was divided between
town and country, and their dispositions were
such that they derived enjoyment from both.
Amelia still preserved the sprightliness that was
natural to her character, but was entirely divested
of its volubility. Sir Everard totally forsook the
pleasures of shooting and the chase, and com
menced a rational life. As to the arrogant Miss
Bridewell, she continued to reign at Myrtle Grove,
and was wisely denominated the female hector of
the place. The pious Dr. Woodward died in a
few years, and was interred with all possible res
pect. The honest Mr. Norris retired to the cot
tage appropriated for his use, blessing the name of
the benevolent donor. He lived in it twenty years,
thus reaching the astonishing period of a hundred.
Here concludes the story of the lovely Fanny.

THE END.

BINDING SECT, r

PR Reeve, Clara

3658 Fatherless Fanny

R5F3

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